


That Sugar Sweet

by catholicschoolgirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Explicit Language, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Sexual Fantasy, Social Commentary, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Not messing with you,” Zayn answered earnestly. “I still don't understand how you don't see what I see.”</p><p>“What do you see?”</p><p>“So much.” </p><p>Harry laughed but it was only because he knew he couldn't start crying at work. He was a professional now, damn it. “I see whole galaxies when I look at you, Zayn.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry's store is failing, his "open" relationship isn't going anywhere, and Harry is slowly destroying himself with self-doubt. Enter Zayn Malik, marketing consultant extraordinaire and the most remarkable person Harry has ever met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Sugar Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TequilaMockingbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TequilaMockingbird/gifts).



> For the prompt "Zayn's a marketing pro who has to help save Harry's failing business." Not as much sarcasm as I would've hoped, but it's certainly heavy on the soul-searching and introspection. Hope you enjoy either way.
> 
> Thank you forever to all of my lovely betas. You are all so, so very amazing.

The story started with one fundamental, undeniable truth – Harry, on his own, was a shit businessman.

In Harry's defense, he had never expected to go into fashion, let alone be the Owner and General Manager of a retail store. The store had been his older sister Gemma's idea. Gemma was the fashionista growing up, the girl who had stood over the sink, turning the bowl blue when she dyed her hair with Manic Panic. The Styles kid known for her effortlessly cool ensembles, the one who had gone to FIDM and received a degree in Merchandise Marketing. After she graduated and moved back up to the Bay Area, their family pooled money together to make her dream a reality, buying a storefront location in Downtown Oakland, a neighborhood the realtor had insisted was incredibly trendy and up-and-coming, the prime location for a new clothing store.

Harry had been busy contemplating the meaning of being a millenial at the time – he'd gone to Columbia to receive his fairly useless Classical Studies degree before returning home to wait tables at his stepdad's restaurant – so Gemma hired him on to help at the store. For a while, it almost seemed like it would work, but the business never really got its feet off the ground, especially with Gemma still spending all of her free time in LA and Harry not knowing _anything_ about fashion or management.

About a year into the store adventure, Gemma decided she wanted to move in with some guy she had met on Twitter and make jewelry in New York City, leaving Harry entirely in charge of the business. And again, Harry did not know _anything_ about fashion besides the fact that he had expensive taste footed by his parents and loved everything YSL. Unfortunately, this was not quite enough to really run a retail location in a neighborhood that was rapidly changing, transitioning from rundown, urban neglect into popular and hip. Gentrification was real, terrifying, and happening all around Harry, but he wasn't even financially benefiting from it.

Harry's parents refused to give up the store, though. They'd sunk too much into it and didn't want to cut their losses, making it a pride thing, and they had somehow gotten the idea that Harry cared passionately about its success, as well. So Robin called the store one morning at the start of another uneventful day of Harry making no sales, and told Harry that he had hired a consultant to come in and save the business. The consultant would be in the store within a week to survey everything for himself and assess needs, discuss strategy, come up with a marketing plan, blah blah blah.

Harry hung up the phone and put his head in his hands, surveying the store in between the gaps of his fingers. Robin had been talking about radical revamps and financial losses for months by this point, but this new development really hit home how _badly_ Harry had fucked up with the store. They were at a critical juncture – they needed to either fix the formula and _fast_ , or give up. Cut their losses and Harry could go back to waiting tables and doing fuck all with his life and his overpriced, essentially worthless Ivy League degree.

Harry knew it then – this entire consultant experience was going to be extremely difficult. Harry would have to think about things that normally would never even cross his mind and make potentially uncomfortable choices. He would have to really decide whether this was worth it – if he was going to stick out his sister's dream or not, or find a way to make the store into _his dream_ , his passion. Harry just hoped that the consultant Robin hired knew his shit.

So Harry knew from the beginning that this process was going to be a small nightmare.

And honestly, Harry wasn't _entirely_ wrong.

  
  


Robin emailed over the name of the consultant, as well as his CV and a link to the guy's website. So Harry knew in advance that the consultant was named Zayn Malik and that he was pretty well-regarded in his field – the type to speak on panels at conferences and lead MeetUps and write articles on LinkedIn that other people actually read and gave a shit about. Harry was more than a little intimidated, but he figured he could bluster through their first meeting well enough. Harry wasn't well-regarded in any field outside of the bedroom, had never been asked to share his opinion in a forum that wasn't a classroom or the back room of his stepdad's restaurant. Harry wasn't a professional, not in any way that really mattered. But that was why Robin was bringing Zayn in – because Zayn _was_ a professional, because he _did_ know his shit, and because Robin was always the type to splurge on the best. They were paying the guy a pretty penny for his expertise, and Harry shouldn't be intimidated by that. Harry recognized that he shouldn't let himself get scared off.

Zayn was fairly busy, so he emailed Harry and Robin with a list of several days that he might be able to drop into the store. Harry figured that Zayn would probably end up coming in later in the week, and so he was busy blasting a Stones song over the store's tinny audio system when Zayn actually first walked through the door one breezy Tuesday afternoon.

Harry's first thought was that Google Images had not done Zayn justice. And Harry's second belligerent and hysterical thought was that he was _absolutely fucking screwed,_ because of course Robin would hire the most beautiful person Harry had ever seen in his entire life to help with the store. Of fucking course.

Because Zayn was _gorgeous_. Young – or at least younger than Harry would have assumed based off of all of the accomplishments on his resume – with brown skin and sharp, defined cheekbones. Zayn didn't even have the courtesy to look tired or burnt out, not a wrinkle to be seen, and he was effortlessly cool, too, wearing scuffed thick-rimmed Ray-Ban prescription glasses, Doc Martens, tight jeans, and a blue blazer. Truth be told, Zayn was more like something out of one of Harry's Columbia fantasies, particularly with a leather satchel tossed carelessly over his shoulder, and less like what Harry would have assumed a consultant to look like in real life.

“Mr. Styles?” Zayn asked. Even his _voice_ was beautiful – soft and slightly rumbling, just as perfect as the row of white teeth he exposed when he made his way through the racks of clothes with a warm smile. “You're Robin's son, right?”

“Y – yes,” Harry said breathlessly, wiping his suddenly sweaty palm on the thigh of his own jeans and reaching across the counter to shake Zayn's hand. “Or, like. Just Harry, please.”

“Right,” Zayn replied with a nod and a quick bite of his bottom lip. God, and _his mouth_ – plump, pink lips, slightly glistening. Was there anything about this man that wasn't beautiful? “Well, I'm Zayn Malik. Or, _just Zayn_. I'm assuming you got my email? I'm here to do a quick assessment of the store.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got the email,” Harry answered. He was so nervous, speaking more quickly than he typically did, and he kept almost tripping over his words. Zayn was just so gorgeous, it was almost unnerving. Zayn wasn't only absurdly attractive, but it was almost like his beauty had its own intelligence to it, a depth that went beyond a skillful arrangement of features. “Thank you again for taking this project on. Um, do you need – ?”

“No, I'll just be looking around and taking some notes,” Zayn replied with a casual shrug. “If you don't mind?”

“No, no, of course,” Harry sputtered. “I'll just be here – behind the counter.”

Zayn smiled again, something almost wolfish that Harry couldn't make heads nor tails of, before pulling an iPad out of his satchel. “Right.”

Harry stepped back and tried to keep himself from staring as he watched Zayn wander around the store. Harry tried, he really did. But he failed – _completely_. It was fascinating. Zayn was a bit of an ambler, taking long strides, the soles of his boots clomping loudly against the tiles. There was something almost lazy in his gait, yet it was still purposeful. Intentional. Harry couldn't tear his eyes away.

But beyond committing Zayn's walk to memory, it was also interesting trying to see the store from someone else's perspective. People didn't come in very often, and when they did, they were typically in and out, not giving Harry anywhere near enough time for him to invent a whole life for the customer, an attempt at understanding where they had come from and what they were looking for when they came in. Harry always tried to figure out what service he could provide for a new and potential customer – how Harry could make their day, bring a smile to their face.

But Zayn was here for more than thirty seconds, was sauntering through the entire store, even. And Harry already knew bits and pieces of Zayn's life – knew that he had owned his own business and was now dedicated to helping other entrepreneurs make their dreams a reality. Harry wanted to figure out what service Harry could provide Zayn – how Harry could make Zayn's day, bring another smile to his face.

Although maybe that wasn't right. Maybe Harry shouldn't be thinking about how he could make Zayn happy. That was probably the wrong endgame to have in mind.

“How much are these necklaces?” Zayn called from somewhere near the front of the store. “These rope-looking things. You don't have a tag or sign and I don't see a label, either.”

“Umm, two hundred, I think.”

Zayn's face appeared from behind a mannequin. “You _think_?”

“I'm not sure? I can look it up in the system but the wifi is spotty.”

Zayn's eyes widened but he didn't say anything, just hummed to himself before returning to his perusal of the front of the store. It was quiet for another few minutes, The Rolling Stones giving way to The 1975, before Zayn called up to Harry again.

“Why are these boots scuffed?”

Harry felt almost like he was in grade school again, being called up to the front of the class to do long-division on the white board and having to pretend as though he wasn't absolutely shit at math. “Dunno. Bought them like that? I like for the shoes to look lived-in.”

“Typically people can do that on their own, bro,” Zayn replied. Harry decided immediately that he did not want Zayn to call him “bro.” It didn't feel right, and not just because it wasn't all that professional. “Make their shoes look like they've been walked in, I mean. By putting them on their feet. These look like someone legit already walked through the Tenderloin in them. Probably not the look you want to be going for.”

Harry felt his cheeks redden and he ducked his face as Zayn finished his walk around the store. Zayn returned to the register, placing his iPad on the counter and taking his glasses off, flicking the sides out before settling them on top of his head. It should have looked dorky, should've disrupted the careful arrangement of his hair, even, but it didn't. If anything, he only looked hotter. It was not fair.

“There's a lot that we're going to need to do in order to make this shop successful,” Zayn started with a deep sigh. “Everything you have in-house needs to go. I know Robin says that your sister – the prior store owner, I think he mentioned – used to do all of the buying, so I'll get you up to speed. We'll go to trade shows together, make new connections, get you entirely new merchandise. Think the same sort of vibe you see people wearing outside at the cafes and The Hub – key vintage pieces, versatile, a little funky, but ultimately very simple. Quality without breaking the bank. We'll redo the floor plan, too – open it up and make it a more inviting and relaxing shopping environment. Remove the clutter. You need a new logo while we're at it, as well as a sign outside cause I honestly had no clue this place was even a store, and to freshen up your social media presence. And Robin gave me a look at your books and they're a fucking mess – excuse my language. My partner is the expert at that, and he suggested immediately that we get you a better accounting system and a crash course in bookkeeping. So we're looking at the works, basically.”

Harry nodded energetically, rummaging underneath the counter to grab a pen and notepad and then jotting down all of Zayn's suggestions and underlining some of the more key ideas. Trade shows. Connections. Vintage. Funky. New accounting system. _The works_. It sounded both completely overwhelming and very doable, at least expressed in Zayn's sure, melodic voice. Harry liked when projects seemed reasonable, and he realized suddenly that he _would_ do anything to make the business work. He refused to let his parents down, not when Gemma had already abandoned the store and all that his parents had done to make it a success. Gemma had essentially removed the option for Harry – he did not want to be a failure, couldn't be, not when she had already disappointed his family so badly. Harry would hate to be a disappointment.

And maybe the reason why the store hadn't been a success was because Harry had just tried to replicate what Gemma had been doing, and she hadn't even been giving it her all, either. Maybe Harry could make this _his_ dream, and maybe his dream would work.

It couldn't be any worse than Gemma's, at least.

“How long has Robin hired you on for?” Harry asked, pen still poised over his notepad.

“Well, we didn't have a real timeline because I wanted to come into the store myself to get a feel for the energy investment required, but I'm thinking the best way to guarantee long-term success is for it to be something like a six-month long project,” Zayn said. “Getting new inventory shouldn't take long, but it's everything else that I'm a little worried about. You haven't studied this, you've basically had to learn from your sister and she ditched you instead of teaching you the ropes. Your books in particular are a tremendous source of concern – you really need to get your financial accounting in order, and honestly, Robin should've taught you this or gotten you enrolled in some sort of course since he manages his own small business and knows how it goes.” Zayn sighed, running his hands through his artfully tousled hair. “You have a lot of potential here, though. This street is a major thoroughfare and the neighborhood is certainly changing – hipsters and yuppies working in tech with large disposable incomes. We have to latch onto that market and hopefully by the end of this project we can have a big reopening party – get the media in, bloggers, local influencers.”

“You think all of that will work?” Harry asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. Zayn seemed sincere and enthusiastic, definitely knowledgeable, and Harry _did_ want the store to pan out. He liked hanging out here, liked the idea that he could provide a service to other people in his community and do his own part to make Oakland a fun, thriving city. It was naïve idealism, maybe, but Harry had realized it while watching Zayn meander through the store. Harry wanted people like Zayn to come shopping here, wanted customers to stop by the counter and talk to Harry about their lives. It was the one thing Harry had missed about working at Robin's restaurant – the moments of human connection, the instances where Harry genuinely realized he was providing a service that made someone's day. “You really think the store has potential?”

“Oh yeah, I know so,” Zayn replied confidently. “It really is a beautiful space and I'll do everything in my power to make it great. Do you trust that I can help?”

Harry put his pen down, walking behind the counter to grab Zayn's hand and shake it again, far more enthusiastically than before. “I _know_ you can. Thank you, Zayn. So, so much. I can't even articulate how much I appreciate your help.”

Zayn's cheeks and the tips of his ears went scarlet and it was the most endearing thing Harry had probably ever seen, even though he couldn't understand the other man's embarrassment at all. Zayn cleared his throat and smiled, this large dazzling display of teeth that made Harry feel a little blind. “It's no problem, Harry. I'll be back with my partner – and a marketing plan – sometime within the week.”

  
  


The rest of the afternoon passed in a breeze. Harry felt giddy, his spirit buoyed by the idea that finally, _finally_ the store would be getting the help it deserved.

Harry bounded back to his apartment after closing up the shop at six. His longtime girlfriend, Eleanor, had classes until five-thirty, but she almost always got caught up in rush hour hell on public transportation and was utterly exhausted by the time she finally ended up home. Harry was lucky – their apartment was only a short bike ride away from the shop, and on nights that he was feeling particularly enterprising, he could stop off at Whole Foods on the way back and pick up something nice for dinner. Luckily, they still had some leftover ground beef from taco night on Sunday, so Harry pulled the rest out and got started on boiling a pot of spaghetti and browning the meat. The apartment was smelling warm and inviting by the time Eleanor finally got in, kicking her heels off by the front door and groaning in relief.

“What's that you're making?” Eleanor called, traipsing into the kitchen on bare feet. Today she was wearing black jeans and a cream white top, effortlessly cool with her sweater tossed across her arm and her books piled up in a large leather tote she had found for a steal at some thrift store in Berkeley. Even bone tired and smearing eyeliner and mascara across the lid of her eyes, Eleanor was beautiful, with soft, dreamy features and a permanent smile on her face, one that only seemed to widen whenever she caught Harry's gaze across a room.

Harry and Eleanor first met each other in the sixth grade when Eleanor transferred to Harry's elementary school, and they had been best friends ever since, both going to undergrad in New York and both returning home to California after graduation. They were the sort of friends everyone assumed would end up married with kids, comfortable and familiar with each other. And in several ways, Eleanor _was_ like home for Harry, so it made sense that one day Harry would kiss away Eleanor's tears after yet another undeserving asshole had broken her heart. They'd been together ever since.

It probably wasn't the most passionate relationship Harry had ever been in, but Harry was okay with that. Lust, ecstasy, that wild heady love – Eleanor and Harry had both experienced all of those things in relationships before, and those loves hadn't been good for them at all. Harry liked to think he had grown up a little bit, and honestly, nothing brought a smile to his face quite like waking up in the morning and seeing his best friend snoring lightly next to him, hair fanned out across their deflated pillows.

“It's just spaghetti,” Harry replied, dropping a kiss to Eleanor's forehead when she came and wrapped her arms around Harry's waist, burrowing her head in his chest. “Figured we needed to use up the rest of the ground beef before it went bad.”

“You're so smart,” Eleanor yawned, digging the palm of her hand into her eye. “Smartest boy I know.”

“How was your section?”

“Horrific,” Eleanor mumbled. “One of the boys keeps flirting with me during Office Hours and in class. It's really awful, Harry. He's practically twelve.”

Harry snorted, turning the heat down on the stove and guiding Eleanor out of the kitchen. Their apartment was essentially a glorified studio, so really this only meant that Harry moved Eleanor into their living room slash bedroom, settling onto their bed and both sighing at the comfort when their knees hit the mattress. Their bed was the only real splurge in their tiny apartment, a queen sized mattress that Eleanor had enterprisingly turned into a canopy bed one lazy Sunday afternoon. “Tell him that if he flirts with you one more time, you'll give him a C in the course.”

“That might just do it,” Eleanor mumbled. “Their grades are the only thing these kids take seriously, and even then, only during midterms and finals week. How was your day?”

Harry shrugged, his curls brushing against Eleanor's cheeks. “That consultant Robin hired came in today. His name is Zayn – Zayn Malik. He owns his own firm. Zayn's very pretty. You'd like him, I think.”

Eleanor brought a hand to scratch at Harry's scalp idly. “Hmm. What's he look like?”

“He's old school beauty, El. Warm, tan skin,” Harry said, closing his own eyes and melting into the feel of Eleanor's fingers against his scalp, the memory of Zayn's perfect countenance swimming against the back of his eyelids. “High, sharp cheekbones. Thick, silky black hair. And his _eyes_ , El. Honey colored and they actually sparkle when he smiles.”

Harry could almost _feel_ the shape of Eleanor's grin – that's how well he knew her. “Sounds perfectly dreamy. Are you going to go after him?”

Harry pulled a face, pouting when Eleanor's hand stilled against his scalp. “Doubt it. Guy like him – there's no way he's single.”

“Maybe he's got an arrangement like ours,” Eleanor suggested. “You never know.”

Harry hummed noncommittally. Harry could never say out loud that if he were lucky enough to be in a relationship with someone like Zayn, there's no way Harry would agree to the sort of open arrangement Harry had with El. People like Zayn – successful, intelligent, gorgeous people like Zayn – certainly deserved admiration and constant attention. But Harry was selfish, and he knew that he would never want to share someone like Zayn. Never ever.

“You should ask him,” Eleanor continued. “Well, after he's done with this project for you, maybe, so it isn't some weird breach of professionalism thing. But just like, test the waters. You've never even tried out your end of our open arrangement.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but after a moment's consideration, Harry realized that Eleanor was right. Their open relationship, up until this point, had remained more of a theory than something Harry actually put into practice. There had been tiny crushes, sure, but Harry had never actually acted upon the open aspect of their relationship.

It was a lot of _work_ , was the thing – trying to woo someone in the first place, gauging the other person's comfort level with an unorthodox relationship arrangement, and then, if they even got there, explaining the terms of Harry and El's relationship, what was in bounds and what wasn't. Harry hadn't yet met someone who he thought was worth the effort. He already had El – Harry didn't really need anyone else.

Zayn _was_ really hot, though.

“Just think about it,” Eleanor said, voice soft and suddenly serious. “I wouldn't want you to miss out on something just because you're afraid it could all go bad. I never want you to live your life in fear of disappointment.”

Harry hummed again and disentangled himself from Eleanor to check on the spaghetti.

  
  


Harry expected “within the week” to mean the following Tuesday, but Zayn actually made another appearance at the store by the end of the same week. It was a good thing, too, because Harry was getting antsy anticipating all of the changes Zayn would propose. What if he suggested that Harry only sell men _or_ women's clothing? What if he looked at Harry's books and realized that the entire enterprise was a bust? What if Zayn thought everything about Harry's store was fucking stupid? What if – ?

“Good afternoon,” Zayn called, his eyes glittering as he sauntered up to the front counter. He was just as breathtakingly gorgeous as he had been the last time he came into the store, and just as smartly dressed, although today he was wearing blue slacks and a crisp white button down that he rolled the sleeves on, exposing the clean lines of several well-done tattoos. Harry had to resist the urge to reach across the counter top and run the pads of his fingers over the raised skin, which was probably for the best, particularly as Zayn had arrived with a slight, smirking brunet at his side. The other man was tanned, with windswept hair and playful blue eyes. Not nearly as fashionable as Zayn, even in a similar button down and slacks combo, but still fairly pretty. Certainly the type to catch Harry's eye normally, although he seemed downright common in comparison to Zayn's ethereal beauty. “Harry, this is my business partner, Louis Tomlinson,” Zayn introduced, standing back and smiling warmly as Harry reached over to shake Louis' hand. “Lou, this is Harry Styles, and this is the shop.”

Louis let his eyes roam across the store, the edge of a sneer lifting the corner of his mouth. “Charmed,” Louis remarked tonelessly.

“Louis is in charge of the financial component of the marketing strategy,” Zayn explained. “Whereas I am more of the big picture planner, Louis can help you with the nuts and bolts of getting your accounting infrastructure in place.”

“Big picture,” Louis snorted. “Zayn is both big picture and minute details, don't let him deceive you. I just like tinkering with numbers more than he does.”

Zayn rolled his eyes and grinned at Harry, the sort that seemed fun and conspiratorial. As though he and Harry were in on some sort of joke. It felt nice, Harry thought. Having Zayn's attention focused on him. “Is there anywhere we can sit and go over the plan, then?”

Harry looked around the store. There really wasn't any sort of formal office space – a closet in the back for merchandise Harry hadn't logged or tagged yet, then the main floor, and a tiny room that Gemma had used mostly to make jewelry in her spare time, but which was currently overrun with clothes and boxes of shoes. “Not really,” Harry replied apologetically. “I need to clean up the back – ”

“It's no worries,” Louis interrupted. “I doubt anyone will be coming in and interrupting us.”

Zayn threw Louis a cutting look, mouth clearly prepared to utter a reprimand of some sort, but Harry sighed, reaching over and laying a hand on top of Zayn's wrist. “No. Uh. He's right.”

Zayn slipped his arm from underneath Harry's grasp, shuffling with one of his bags as the tips of his ears turned pink. Harry cursed at himself internally. He had been thinking about Eleanor's suggestion over the last few days. It'd been hard not to – no one ever came into the shop and Harry was frequently bored out of his mind. It gave him nothing but time to think over clearly awful ideas. So damn him for briefly considering Eleanor's suggestion. Damn him for daydreaming and indulging in schoolyard fantasies about the consultant his stepfather had hired. Harry had crossed a line by touching Zayn, and that was _not_ professional. This whole experience was about Harry learning how to be a professional, a businessman, an entrepreneur, and he should be thinking about that, about the store, not about sucking the consultant off in a room currently buried under scuffed up shoes.

“Well, if it's all right with you, we can have this discussion behind the counter,” Zayn proposed, pulling out his iPad and the case for a pair of glasses – Gucci, with thick, red frames. Totally different from the ones that he had been wearing on Tuesday. Harry had never met someone with more than one pair of prescription designer glasses before. “I've got a little PowerPoint for you as well as a handout of the marketing plan. Then Louis will go over some of the accounting basics. We'll be emailing this to you and Robin as well. Sound good?”

Harry nodded, his hair flopping into his eyes. “Yeah, I'm – I'm definitely ready for whatever you've come up with.”

Zayn smiled again, this wide, breathtaking thing that pushed his tongue up against the back of his teeth and made the corners of his eyes scrunch up. Harry wanted to press his hands against the skin of Zayn's eyelids, wanted to know with his own muscle memory how Zayn's smiles felt when they transformed Zayn's entire face.

It was a completely dazzling thought, the sort of intense urge that Harry had once swore would never bring him any good. But either way, Harry had never, _ever_ experienced a desire so dizzying before. He almost felt high with it.

Louis smirked at Harry as Zayn made his way behind the counter, the mischief and pure knowing in his eyes making Harry feel flustered and all found out. Harry studiously avoided Louis' eye contact throughout the entirety of Zayn's PowerPoint presentation.

  
  


Six months.

In six months, Harry's store would be amazing. In six months, Harry would be providing a real service to his community, a place for people to hang out and find clothing that would make them feel confident and powerful. In six months, Harry would have a real income, and not some sort of glorified stipend from his parents. Harry just needed to be patient and then in six months he would have everything he'd ever wanted for himself – a real career, financial security, a job that mattered. In short – happiness.

But in the meantime, Harry would be doing a _lot_ of hard work. Some of the hardest work he'd ever have to do in his life. Sometimes at night, when Harry was feeling sad and overwhelmed, the reality of all that he would have to do was almost enough to send Harry running for the hills. Harry knew he was a smart kid. Well, sort of. He was book smart, at least, and Harry knew that he was capable of doing some truly amazing things when he really sat down and put his mind to it. That had been how he got into Columbia. Harry had made a very detailed to-do list, checked all of the right boxes, and then when Harry got in, he created another plan for himself and excelled throughout his four years of undergrad. But Harry had gotten complacent after graduation. Lazy. Scared. More scared than complacent, probably. Harry almost didn't think he was capable of success anymore and he certainly had been hesitant to push himself, to _try_. Harry wanted greatness but simultaneously wasn't sure he deserved it.

Luckily, Zayn was a patient and devoted tutor. Or consultant – _whatever_. He was almost like a life coach, really, someone to handhold and cheer-lead Harry through this extensive and exhausting process. And Harry knew that he wasn't Zayn's only client, but that didn't stop Zayn from frequently popping into the store whenever he had a moment to spare. Zayn said that it was because Harry's storefront was conveniently located – Zayn lived in Oakland, too, and he claimed that Harry's store was about halfway between Zayn's office in San Francisco and his condo in the hills – but Harry was sure that wasn't entirely it. It sounded almost like wishful thinking or some sort of projection on Harry's part, but sometimes Harry couldn't help but think that Zayn must actually _like_ Harry and that's why Zayn was around so much.

Zayn was certainly going above and beyond for Harry and for the store. Whenever Harry asked about it, Zayn answered that it was just his strategy – something he had learned early on in his career when he had been a Development Director for some nonprofit – the idea that professionals had to go above and beyond in the services they provided in order to generate loyalty and recognition. It made sense, it certainly did in the sort of word of mouth market Zayn operated in, but Zayn seemed to have fun whenever he came into Harry's store, too, swinging himself up on the counter and eagerly showing Harry things on his iPad screen – some new designer he had heard about and thought would be perfect to have in the store, a new artist he wanted to check out at a local exhibit, some indie rapper or band that was coming to town.

And not only that, but Zayn simply did things he really didn't have to. Louis was the one in charge of getting Harry's accounting system set up, but Zayn came into the store that day, too, and rubbed soothing circles on Harry's back as Harry took detailed notes in his new moleskin. And Zayn didn't have to personally take Harry to a trade show in San Francisco and introduce Harry to local designers he knew and admired. Zayn didn't have to email Harry at all hours with thoughts and ideas and suggestions. And Zayn didn't have to come into the store, arms straining as he carried in lunch, on the day that Zayn knew Harry was trying to clean up that cluttered back room and make it into a _real_ office. Zayn didn't have to do any of this – none of these things had been explicitly typed up into the six month marketing plan, nor were they included in the extremely detailed contract that Robin had drafted up, but Zayn was still doing all of it with a sparkle in his eye and a grin.

Harry hoped it was because Zayn liked him. At least a teeny bit.

Because Harry knew that he really liked Zayn. And quite a bit more than a teeny bit.

  
  


It was about two months into the plan when Harry began to realize that they could really do this. They could really turn the business around. _Harry_ could turn _his_ business around.

Things had been going well – really fucking well. Harry was still migrating all of his accounting information over, but he'd gotten the back room cleaned up and was almost completely done transforming it into a real office. Zayn had also gotten someone to buy a lot of Harry's old stock, and they were gradually bringing new merch into the store. Harry had fully embraced Zayn's suggestion to cater to the people Harry saw around Downtown – investing in comfortable, edgy, and affordable style – but Harry could also admit, at least to himself when he was alone with his thoughts, that Harry was also finding a lot of inspiration in Zayn's sartorial choices. Harry _loved_ the way Zayn dressed, loved that Zayn's personal aesthetic was a mix of grunge and urban, professional and casual, the perfect melding of Oakland style and what it meant to live in the Bay Area. Harry could see now that he had mistakenly been trying to impose his weird personal preferences on other people, but that wasn't the way to have a successful business. Clearly the way to have a successful business was to try and make everyone look as good as Zayn.

Although no one would ever be able to look quite as good as Zayn. But Harry embraced the idea that people might come into his store to try.

Zayn's newest idea was that they paint the store walls. It was a good idea – the inside of the store looked dingy, but not in the cool, hipster way. Mostly it just looked like a shitty building that no one had ever truly invested any time or money into, because it _was_ a shitty building that no one had ever truly invested any time or money into. But Zayn had an eye for these sorts of things, and one day he picked up some sheets from the Goodwill down the street, primer and environmentally-friendly Benjamin Moore paint, as well as some other odds and ends from the East Bay Depot for Creative Reuse, and they rolled up their sleeves, threw all the doors and windows open, and got to work.

It was nice, pushing displays into the back and then laying out the sheets over the floor tiling. Watching Zayn put blue tape around the wall edges before grabbing brushes and getting them wet with paint. Harry was literally watching the store transform into something new and amazing in front of his very eyes. But not only that – Harry was actually putting blood, sweat and a lot of tears into making the store something new. _His_. Painting over the failure, turning sad white walls cool and blue. It was nice. It was so nice.

“I like this,” Harry remarked after he and Zayn had been painting silently but companionably for some indeterminate amount of time. That was one of many amazing things about Zayn that Harry had discovered over the last few weeks – Zayn was content with silence, didn't feel compelled to fill every waking moment with noise. Harry liked Louis, but whenever he came into the store, Louis could be _so loud_ , almost seemed uncomfortable with any moment of quiet. Zayn loved stillness, getting lost in what Harry assumed must be a swirl of thoughts, and Harry loved sitting in silence, Zayn warm and considerate at his side.

“Like what?” Zayn asked, glancing over at Harry. He had a fleck of paint on his cheek. It should've looked stupid, but instead it looked kind of dashing and roguish.

“Like painting, I guess. Never really got the chance to do this before.”

“Really? Not even in school?”

Harry shook his head, tongue poking out of his mouth as he tried to concentrate on rolling the brush somewhat evenly. “I never took art. I was more of a band geek – tried to learn how to play a bunch of instruments but I never got really good at any of them. I was mediocre at everything.”

Zayn rolled his eyes affectionately. “I doubt that's true.”

“It's really not,” Harry insisted. “Like – I mean. You remember what this space was before you came into it, Zayn. This store is an example of me being mediocre at everything.”

Zayn paused almost mid-stroke, sighing before laying his paintbrush onto the tray they had set up on the floor. Zayn turned to Harry, blue paint still dabbed across his cheek, and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“I don't think you realize how good of a soul you are, Harry,” Zayn said earnestly. “How many guys out there would do what you're doing? Taking over their sister's store – putting in all this time and effort and money into fixing someone else's mess and trying to make something new and good out of it?”

Harry shook his head emphatically, laying his own paintbrush down and stubbornly avoiding Zayn's wide, beseeching eyes. “It's not like that. It's not – I'm just doing what's right. The good thing, you know? It's not anything special.”

“Yeah, but people don't frequently do what's right or what's good,” Zayn continued. “And that's what I'm saying, yeah? You're not mediocre and this store – the reason why it had been failing was because you were just doing what your sister had been doing. If anyone is mediocre or a failure here, it's her. Not only for leaving you with this mess, but also for not seeing how much pure, raw potential she had in her brother, and not taking advantage of that resource.”

Harry huffed out something that could've either been a laugh or a sob. Harry couldn't remember the last time someone had said something so _nice_ about him. Growing up, Harry could admit that he acted out so that he wouldn't remain in Gemma's long, imposing shadow. He was loud, charming – a bit facetious, actually. But he was smart-ish and people liked him because people always enjoy smiling guys who aren't particularly combative. Still, growing up and hearing that he was “charming” and “sweet” – those sorts of compliments didn't really _mean_ anything. Harry had always craved deeper connections than people saying he was just “nice.” Harry had wanted something great, wanted to be exceptional. And perhaps that was vain, to aspire for something _more_ for himself, but here Zayn was, saying that Harry had potential, demanding that Harry acknowledge that attribute in himself.

Zayn was demanding it because he understood how important those sorts of words were. Zayn _always_ understood.

Harry sniffled a little and turned his head away from Zayn's gorgeous, knowing eyes. “You really think all that?”

Zayn scoffed before picking up his paintbrush again. “Don't just think it. I know it. We're friends now, yeah? I wouldn't lie to you about something like this.”

And Harry felt something wild flutter against his ribcage, hope awakening and ferociously beating its wings. Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and picked his own paintbrush up again with unsteady hands. They were friends – _Zayn said they were friends_. But Harry wanted more than that. And Harry could admit that now – not out loud, but certainly in the quietude and security of his own mind.

Harry was at work. Harry was at work and he was a professional now. He would do what needed to be done for the day, and then a little bit more, because Zayn said that's how Harry would find success. By going above and beyond.

Harry would do what was needed, and then he'd deal with his inconvenient and confusing feelings once he got home.

  
  


Harry's feelings for Zayn only became more inconvenient as time passed. Not just because Zayn was otherworldly in his beauty, but also because he was _smart_ , the sort of intelligence that went beyond things learned in books or at trainings. Real world smart, street smart, actual life experiences smart. Zayn carried his cleverness like everything else – with grace and charm, an effortlessness that would've made Harry jealous if he didn't find it so enchanting.

One of the amazing things about Oakland was the fact that it was an extremely political city – always had been. The birthplace of the Black Panthers, a hub for the Occupy movement and a city quick to host a protest or two. It was exciting, and it was even more exciting to hear Zayn talk about it sometimes when he came into the office with Chinese food for them to share.

They were having a similar discussion when a handsome enough redheaded man wandered into the store. Harry greeted him, same as he did anyone who took the time to come in, and the guy threw Harry a quick smile before making his way over to peruse jackets.

“It's good for the city, s'all I'm saying,” Zayn continued. “Like protests – those are just amplified dialogues, yeah? A way to bring attention to an issue. And all of that political discussion is what makes Oakland great.”

The guy perusing jackets snorted under his breath. Zayn cut narrowed eyes to regard the man before quirking an eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged. 

“Anyway, it's just cool to see people show out for causes they believe in,” Zayn continued. “I was reading this report a few days ago about movement organizing and power building. I can forward it along, if you want?”

“Don't think _you're_ the type that should be sharing anything about organizing,” the guy interjected loudly.

Zayn cocked his head to the side but the smile that danced across his face was not warm or inviting. “Care to share why?”

“You already know why,” the man hissed. “You've _had_ to have seen the sign in the window down the street.”

Harry's eyes bulged. It was practically the talk of Downtown – the old lady who owned a bookstore had put up the front page from some wingnut newspaper on her window. Just pure racist, Islamophobic garbage. Oakland, for all that it was a hub of organizing and activism, was still also the proud home of a lot of racists. 

But Zayn was still smiling coldly, almost like he wasn't fazed at all. “You know I picked out that jacket you've been manhandling, right?”

The man's face twisted up and he thrust the jacket he had been looking at back onto the rack, bunching up and wrinkling the fabric in between his hands. He scowled at Zayn as he stalked out the store, the bell that they'd installed tinkling as he left.

Zayn's face dropped, the cold smile sliding off his face as he took a long, steadying breath. “God, I wanted to curbstomp that guy.”

Harry ran his hands through his own hair. He felt suddenly very uncomfortable, didn't even quite know what to say, really. “You shouldn't let guys like that bother you. It's just – he's an idiot.”

Zayn rapped his knuckles against the counter, turning a sad smile up at Harry. “You didn't see his badge, huh?”

Harry blinked at Zayn. “No.”

“He works at Pandora,” Zayn said. “And I'm not sure if you know, but engineers at Pandora can make upwards of $100,000 a year. That's a lot of money, even in this weird, hyper-inflated economy we live with in the Bay Area. Enough to afford a house, a nice car. Vacations.” Zayn cut his eyes to regard Harry thoughtfully. “Maybe even enough to send your stepson to Columbia, or hire a consultant to help bail your kids out.” 

Zayn took another long breath, steepling his fingers together before resting his chin on them. “It's definitely enough money to make you think that you're doing something right with your life. Enough money to serve as reinforcement of what you're already doing. Because you're successful and other people aren't. You've got some advantage that they don't have. And some people always assume that advantage is that they're simply better. Smarter. They never seem to think it's got anything to do with the very real and very complex systems that give them privilege, give them a leg up in our society that values whiteness and maleness and a host of other things. And yet all of those systems are in play when they stroll into a store and they use their power, their clout, their weight and influence in society to say something racist to someone providing them a service.

“So it's not entirely fair to say that someone is just an idiot and that I shouldn't let their comments bother me. I should always let injustice bother me. Because at the end of the day, that person is going to go back to their cushy job at Pandora, where they are influencing God knows how many listeners a day with their work, and perpetuate more of the same bullshit that allows people to think they can be offensive assholes. And that's just not right, Harry. It's not.”

“I – I'm sorry,” Harry sputtered. “I'd never even thought – ”

“Must be nice,” Zayn interrupted, voice soft and dreamy. “To not have to consider injustice until it strolls into your store and makes itself glaringly obvious.”

Harry felt absolutely chastised. But Zayn was completely right. Harry wasn't even sure what he would've done if the guy had just come into the store when Zayn wasn't in, blurting out some thoughtless remark while running his hands all over Harry's merchandise. Harry probably would've still rung the guy up and then entirely forgot about it later. And that – that was fucked up.

Harry knew he was lucky. He grew up never having to worry about money, or where his next meal was going to be. Harry never even had to take public transit until he got to Columbia. But he'd never really considered what that meant in any sort of larger way. Maybe he should. Maybe he should start thinking about what it meant that Robin had the resources to hire someone like Zayn on to help a store that was already floundering. 

“I'm sorry that you have to deal with shit like that, Zayn.”

Zayn shrugged. “Don't be sorry. Just consider what you're asking of people sometimes. Like what your words  _really_ mean. That's all.”

Harry blinked and Zayn reached over, laying a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder even though Harry wasn't sure why Zayn felt like  _Harry_ was the one who needed comforting. Maybe it was just another thing that Harry would have to decipher about Zayn later. Another item to add to the growing list of reasons why Harry was obsessed with Zayn Malik.

Either way, Zayn's touch felt nice. Everything about Zayn was nice. So, so very nice.

  
  


About three months into the plan, Harry still found himself grappling with his infatuation with Zayn. Harry was thinking about Zayn _all of the time_. Wondering about Zayn's other projects. Wanting to ask Zayn a multitude of questions about his life – his previous work experience, what it was like for Zayn growing up, if they were _really_ friends now, just like how Zayn had said. But Harry couldn't. It wasn't fair – not to himself, not to El. Certainly not to Zayn. Because Zayn was someone contracted to work with Harry. Sure, he said they were friends, and that meant they could talk to each other about things, but maybe Zayn was just being nice. Maybe he said that to everyone. Maybe it was a part of his whole going above and beyond thing.

One of several nice things about getting the shop in order was that Eleanor liked to drop in more on her way to campus. She said that the store just had a happier vibe, particularly now that the window displays were fun and constantly rotating. She wasn't the only one – people were actually coming in again off the street and Harry even had a few regulars, including two girls who always stopped in on their Friday lunch break.

Eleanor had popped in one Wednesday afternoon, her high heels clicking on the tile as she marveled over the new paint job for what had to be the millionth time.

“It really does look amazing,” Eleanor gushed, a reusable Starbucks thermos in hand. “I can't believe how much warmer and more inviting it looks in here! You and Zayn did an absolutely amazing job. Will he be in again today?”

“He said he'll be visiting in a bit,” Harry answered with a shrug, scrolling through his emails and reopening one he had gotten from Zayn earlier in the day. Even though Eleanor was the one who first put the seed into Harry's mind, it was weird hearing Eleanor talk about Zayn now. Harry liked to think of Zayn as being his own little secret, the sun that warmed up his mornings and afternoons at the shop, but these same thoughts also made Harry feel guilty. Harry shouldn't be putting Zayn on this pedestal. Harry should be thinking of Eleanor like that – she was his girlfriend, after all, and a long-term girlfriend at that. It didn't stop the thoughts or their frequency, though. “Maybe you could stay and we'll all go out for lunch on Telegraph?”

“I can't, love,” Eleanor replied with a rueful grin. “I've got to be back on campus. Office Hours, blergh.”

“You sure you can't stay?” Harry whined, although it wasn't entirely genuine. If Eleanor didn't run into Zayn today, Zayn could continue to be Harry's secret, and Harry could continue to fantasize and daydream without feeling unbearably guilty. “He's really great, El. It would be nice for you to meet him at some point.”

Eleanor smiled and walked up to Harry, kissing him chastely on the lips. She really was a fabulous girl. Harry didn't like the idea of having to introduce someone into their relationship dynamic because it was a lot of work, but Harry also didn't like the idea of needing anyone else beyond Eleanor. She was already so dazzling, so much. Harry shouldn't want more, even if sometimes he did. Even if sometimes Zayn – no. Harry wasn't going to think about that.

“And at some point I will, Harry. Don't be so impatient.”

“I'm not impatient.”

“Oh, yes you are,” Eleanor said with a grin. “It's cute. You want to show off your new crush, I know.”

Harry could feel heat rushing to his cheeks so he ducked his head and busied himself with fliers some customers from an art troupe had left near the register. “I do _not_ have a crush on Zayn.”

“Sure you do,” Eleanor replied slyly. “He's all you've talked about since you met. How smart he is, how funny he is – ”

“Well, you would too, if you saw him.”

“I'm sure I would, baby,” Eleanor answered soothingly. “You _do_ have good taste.” Eleanor leaned in to kiss Harry again, tugging at one of his curls before checking the watch on her wrist and sighing. “I really do have to go. I'll see you at the apartment later?”

“'Course,” Harry said. “Maybe we could go somewhere for dinner, since you can't do lunch?”

Eleanor smiled and nodded, brushing Harry's hair out of his face with a quiet, “Later.” Harry sighed as he watched her walk out of the store, a happy little bounce in her step.

Zayn popped into the store almost thirty seconds later with a paper bag in his hands. Zayn walked straight up to the counter, depositing the paper bag next to the register and smiling free and open.

“You brought lunch again?” Harry asked, opening the bag and almost crying at the sight that greeted him. Burritos wrapped in foil, as well as a plate of tacos and extra containers of carrots and jalapenos. “Oh my God, Zayn. You're a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, I stopped by that taco truck you like on my way over,” Zayn answered as Harry pulled the burrito out first and began undoing the foil. “I hope I got your order right.”

“I could marry you right now,” Harry mumbled, half into his burrito and half directed at Zayn. “Thank you _so much_.”

“No problem,” Zayn answered lightly, turning away from Harry and shouldering through the store with his hands in his jean jacket pockets, looking at all of the new displays Harry had put up over the weekend with a temp Zayn had recommended named Niall Horan. Niall insisted loudly that he was only in between jobs right now, but he also seemed to really like shoes. He'd done a great job of setting up some orders that Harry had gotten in from LA and Harry was seriously considering hiring Niall on full time if the money got good enough. “Do you know that girl who was in here? She looked a little like you – was that your infamous sister?”

Harry frowned, the corners of his mouth pulling downward. People were _always_ confusing Harry and El for siblings. It was really fucking weird, actually, and Harry didn't like thinking too hard about why others had that perception of them. “No, my sister Gemma is still in New York. That's Eleanor.”

“Eleanor?” Zayn repeated, sauntering lazily around the front of the store and fiddling with one of the shirts hanging in the window. “Like, uh, she your friend, this Eleanor?”

“Eleanor's my girlfriend.”

Zayn made a face, something Harry only half-caught, before turning away from Harry entirely. “ _Oh_. Okay.”

“I was trying to get her to stick around, actually. Like, I really wanted her to meet you but she said she has Office Hours. She's getting her PhD at UC Berkeley.”

Zayn shook his head quickly but he was still fussing with one of the displays and stubbornly avoiding looking at Harry. “Oh, you don't have to introduce us. I mean, only if you want to. You just – uh. You just haven't mentioned a girlfriend at all before?”

Harry shrugged and bit at his lip. This was _awkward_ and Harry wasn't entirely sure why. It almost felt like Harry had done something wrong, but he was sure for once that he hadn't. “It hadn't come up before.”

“I suppose so,” Zayn answered, finally emerging from the other side of the display with a smile that didn't entirely reach his eyes. It looked like a grimace, really, but maybe Zayn hadn't had his full cup of coffee before coming into the store today. Maybe he was tired from going to the taco truck before coming Downtown. Maybe – a lot of things. It wasn't Harry's business to decipher Zayn's moods, even though Harry wished it was. “Do you talk to her often, though?” Zayn continued, still staring at one of the displays. “Not uh. Not Eleanor. Your sister, Gemma.”

Harry shrugged. Zayn still looked uncomfortable which was making Harry feel stupid and self-conscious – not that Harry didn't always feel vaguely stupid and self-conscious. But still. Zayn typically exuded calm and confidence. Zayn's discomfort was making Harry feel off-balance.

“Yeah, we text pretty much every day,” Harry answered, holding his phone up and waving it at Zayn. “We try to have phone calls every week, but sometimes she gets busy, or I forget, so.”

Zayn frowned. “What the hell do you two even talk about? How she abandoned you and this store?”

“She's my sister,” Harry protested. “We grew up together and we've always been really close. There's plenty to talk about. And that – that's not necessary. You don't have to pretend to be righteously angry with her, not on my behalf.”

Zayn scoffed, looking down at his shoes. “I'm not pretending to be righteously angry. Although honestly, someone needs to be upset on your behalf. She did a really shitty thing.”

“No, Zayn, you really shouldn't,” Harry continued. “I – I used to be. Angry that is. I felt like she'd doomed me to fail, or something. But then I started to think about it. _Really_ think about it. And like – it wasn't entirely fair of me to blame her for everything that was wrong in my life, to use her as a scapegoat for all of the reasons the store was failing. I don't think she ever even wanted a store in the first place. She just wanted to sell her jewelry and fall in love. It was Robin's idea to pool the money together to get this property and I don't think she felt like she could say no. The store was never her passion – she never really cared about it. And business was never really her thing, either. And so when she got an opportunity to actually do what she really wanted to do – to go live in New York and fall in love and make her jewelry – she leaped at the chance. I do think it sucks that she left me here, but it also sucks that she didn't feel like she could tell Robin that this wasn't her dream in the first place. Or – I don't know. I'm trying to cleanse myself of all of that negative energy. It's not helpful or productive, you know? Thinking ill of my sister – what good will come of that in the end? I love her. And at the end of the day, I love this store, too, and she entrusted it with me.”

Harry propped his chin on his fist, getting a bit lost in his thoughts. Harry had been thinking about Gemma more ever since this store relaunch project got started, and he did find that he wasn't as upset with Gemma as he had used to be. Now he would actually respond to her texts with real answers as opposed to the biting, one-word retorts he used to fire off. She hadn't been around in so long – it was dumb to still blame her for things that she honestly no longer had any part in. Maybe Harry was growing up or something. Or maybe Harry was grateful because he realized that her absence had opened up an entirely new opportunity for himself – the opportunity to pursue his own dreams and to do what made him happy. The fact that he'd met Zayn through all of it, too, was honestly just a bonus.

“You know, I honestly don't think I've ever met anyone as kind and thoughtful as you are, Harry Styles,” Zayn said, traipsing back over to Harry and smiling blindingly.

“I'm really not,” Harry sputtered.

“You really, really are,” Zayn argued. “It kind of blows my mind away sometimes. Like, not only when it comes to your sister, but also with every person who comes into the store. You always provide exceptional customer service and really make it seem like you care about their day.”

Harry pouted. “I _do_ really care about their day.”

Zayn smiled, coming up to the edge of the counter and pressing the tip of his finger into the pocket of Harry's cheek where a dimple lived. Harry smiled, batting at Zayn's hand and furiously trying not to blush. “And that's why you're the kindest and most thoughtful person I know, Harry,” Zayn said. “Because most people just pretend, but you actually care.”

Harry ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. His entire body felt like he was on fire. It was too much – having Zayn's undivided attention, having Zayn say kind things about him. Having Zayn touch him. It was all far too much.

Zayn cleared his throat, drumming his fingers on the counter and switching his tone over to something a little more professional. “Did you get the draft logos and potential style guides I sent over?”

“Yeah!” Harry said, pulling his phone out of his pocket, flipping through his emails, and fully embracing the change in topic. “They're amazing – who did you commission to work on them?”

Zayn leaned over the top of the counter, blinking at Harry in that slow, devastating way of his. “I didn't commission anyone. I did them.”

“You,” Harry stated dumbly. “You – you designed these?”

“Yeah? I mean, I actually got my degree in marketing and graphic design, so it was no big deal. I did the logo for my own business, too.”

“No big deal,” Harry repeated. “Are you real life?”

Zayn laughed, scratching at the shaved side of his head. “Yeah, I think so? I wasn't a robot the last time I checked. Robin gave me a pretty tight budget to work with so I figured I could just donate the time.”

“I can't let you do that,” Harry said. How could Zayn go around saying things like Harry was the kindest person he'd ever met when Zayn was the type of person who designed logos for free on a whim? “We'll have to rethink the budget then, there's no way I'm letting you design three different logos and style guides for free – ”

“ _Really_ , Harry, I don't mind. Consultant fees are ridiculous anyway. You can just donate what you would've spent to hire me for this little side project to a nonprofit. Give someone a piece for a silent auction or something.”

Harry chewed on his lip and nodded hesitantly. Zayn was so full of good ideas – Harry couldn't even understand how Zayn kept so much information rattling around his head at all times. “If you're sure?”

“I am, actually,” Zayn continued. “This group I volunteer with is hosting a fundraiser in a few months. Donate a piece of jewelry or something – I'm sure they would appreciate it.”

Harry held up a hand as he gazed at Zayn again. “Hold on a minute. So, you have your own marketing consulting firm at twenty-something – ”

“Twenty-eight,” Zayn supplied helpfully. “I'm twenty-eight.”

“Okay, so you own a marketing consultant firm at twenty-eight. You have a blog and offer advice at meet-ups and things all around the Bay Area and are constantly being featured on panels at conferences. You're also thinking about going back to school – why, I can only hope to understand. _And_ you volunteer in your free time? Do you sleep? Again – are you _sure_ you're real life?”

Zayn barked out a laugh and shrugged, staring at Harry in a way that made a shiver travel down Harry's spine. This crush of Harry's was honestly reaching crisis levels. “Of course I am, Haz. I just – I like to keep busy, you know? The organization I volunteer with provides scholarship opportunities for disadvantaged kids in South Asia, which is really dear to my heart, as you can imagine, and they also teach entrepreneurship skills. I've been fortunate to experience a lot of success so far in life, so volunteerism is super important.”

If Harry wanted Zayn before, just for bringing him tacos and burritos, just for being the best in the business and for helping Harry accomplish his own dreams, Harry definitely wanted Zayn now. Zayn was just _special_ , one of a kind. There really was no other way to put it.

Harry had never really met someone he wanted to completely sweep off their feet, wed and honeymoon in a remote locale and fuck for hours upon end, before settling down in domestic bliss, but Harry couldn't bear the thought that Zayn was going home every night without someone complimenting him from the moment he stepped through the door in the evening to the second he left again for work the next morning. Harry wanted to lavish Zayn with praise and affection, wanted Zayn to live dripping in the realization that he was loved and appreciated and cherished. The itch to be the one who made Zayn smile every day almost made Harry want to tear back his own skin, show Zayn the flexing muscle and pumping blood that Harry would gladly give Zayn to make him happy.

“You're the most amazing person I've ever met,” Harry said, sure that Zayn would _know_ by how genuine the words were. Zayn laughed again, and when he did, Harry couldn't help but be mesmerized by the flush staining Zayn's cheeks.

“You're ridiculous, Styles,” Zayn replied, something strange but light flitting across Zayn's eyes, and then he was launching into his plans for the store relaunch party, and Harry had to get his moleskin out so he could concentrate on taking notes instead of mentally waxing poetic about the beautiful smile on Zayn's face.

  
  


It was about four and a half months into the six months marketing plan, and Zayn was supposed to be showing Harry how Zayn had always set up his store displays, but Zayn had gotten frustrated with the overall store layout ten minutes into that endeavor and had decided to start moving things around himself. Harry offered to help but was quickly rebuffed. Harry didn't mind, really. Zayn was the cutest when his mind got stuck on a particular project, all haughty stubbornness as he set down to work. And he was even more beautiful once he got a good sweat going, perspiration sticking long, wavy locks to his forehead and dripping down the back of his neck.

To be completely honest, it made Harry think of what Zayn must look like in the middle of a fuck. And _god_ , if that wasn't a thought. Skin slick and salty, his hair clumped and slightly frizzed. Hazel eyes almost black, pupils entirely dilated, and his lips a bruising red, kiss-bitten and flushed. Arousal on Zayn was probably too much to even handle, the living embodiment of sinful desire in all of its crushing beauty. Harry was suddenly achingly jealous of everyone who had already been blessed enough to witness the sight.

But that inappropriate mid-afternoon daydream wasn't enough, really. It wasn't enough to think of Zayn and his neediness, his desperation to get off. Because Harry had to know – what brought Zayn there? What did Zayn like? What got him off? What would make him moan the loudest? Did he like the tease? Would he let Harry run his tongue over flesh, sucking purpling bruises into the skin, nipping, biting, laving? Or did Zayn prefer to take charge, finding pleasure in pinning his partner down, grasping wrists in the width of his palm and baring down with all of his weight? Was it a mixture of both?

Would Zayn let Harry worship over every new inch of revealed flesh? Would he let Harry run his fingers over tattoos that Zayn had only hinted at before, swirling designs that only made Harry harder, the scent of their mingling arousal filling up whatever space they were in – Zayn's expensive car? The back room of the store? Or maybe even right on top of the counter, limbs banging up against the register?

Maybe Zayn didn't mind having edges digging into the meat of his back, pushed up against the store counter while Harry sank to his knees. Harry hoped that Zayn would thread his hands through Harry's hair, not even as a premeditated gesture. Harry hoped that Zayn would be desperate for the grounding mechanism and would tug at Harry's roots while Harry looked up at Zayn through the fan of his own eyelashes and keened.

Harry would undo the buttons of Zayn's jeans, slowly, teasingly, and when he was done, he would pull the denim down to expose tight designer underwear – red Armani, maybe. And Zayn's cock would be straining against the fabric, the hint of wetness dampening the front. Harry would bring his tongue to taste and Zayn would buck forward, unable to help himself. Just so desperate for Harry's mouth – for Harry.

Harry would peel down the fabric. Always slow, always teasingly. It was just in Harry's nature to draw it out, to wait for the exact moment when Zayn's cock would bob out from its constraints. And Harry was sure Zayn's dick was perfect, the same warm tan as the rest of him, thick, mouth-watering. Probably circumcised, although Harry couldn't decide if Zayn was the type to neatly trim his hair or leave it wild, thick and coarse. Either way, Harry would give himself a long moment just to look, to take it all in, and then he would bring the tip of Zayn's cock, wet and dripping, and smear the precome along his bottom lip, pressing the head against the seam of his lips and grinning while he felt Zayn's pulse in his hand.

Zayn's fingernails would be almost scratching at Harry's scalp by this point. Zayn would want Harry's mouth so badly, but Zayn's such a gentleman – he wouldn't just barrel down Harry's throat without permission. And that's what Harry liked about Zayn so much, why Harry wanted Zayn and nobody else. So Harry would grin and nod minutely, opening his mouth to bring Zayn in.

It would be perfect, the width of Zayn's gorgeous cock stretching Harry's lips, Zayn's fingers combing through Harry's hair. Harry would probably cry a little from how much he wanted this and from how good Zayn was. Because Zayn would take care of Harry, murmuring endearments underneath his breath, the stroke down Harry's throat sweet and languid.

And because it was a fantasy and Zayn would know exactly what Harry needed, Zayn would pull his cock from between Harry's lips with a groan before tapping the counter, encouraging for Harry to take off his clothes and lay back.

Harry's mind always seemed to fastforward at this part, past the prep, which was necessary but not as exciting to daydream about. The fantasy resumed right when Zayn was stark nude and rolling a condom on, pressing his lubed cock against Harry's entrance. Zayn would rub the head over Harry teasingly, but when he first pushed in, Harry would just groan, head banging against the counter as his wild, flailing arms knocked over event fliers and business cards. Harry would eventually bring his hands to rest against Zayn's neck, digging his fingernails through sweat and skin, marking Zayn as his.

Zayn would fuck Harry's hole just as good as he fucked Harry's mouth, Harry knew it. Zayn just had the temperament for it, seemed like the intuitive type who would _know_ from the tremble of Harry's hands and the wide-eyed wonder of Harry's eyes exactly what Harry needed. Zayn was attentive in everything else, the businessman who went above and beyond for customer loyalty and recognition – Harry was sure it wouldn't be any different in the bedroom. Zayn would hold onto Harry's hips and just torque into him, angling himself so he was nudging against Harry's prostate again and again, causing Harry's lips to fall open in mind-numbing pleasure, his toes curling where they brushed against Zayn's skin. And Zayn would just smile, that sneaky, devastating smirk of his, leaning in to discover what such pleasure tasted like on Harry's lips.

It would be the best sex of Harry's life, probably. No, not probably – definitely. It was Harry's daydream after all, and Zayn was already the embodiment of everything Harry had ever wanted. Every fantasy and pushed-down desire come to fruition. Living, walking, pure pleasure in human form. So, it would be the best sex of Harry's life coupled with the sweetest, most aching release. Harry would probably come without Zayn even touching his cock. It had never happened before, but then again, it was Harry's daydream, and Zayn seemed like the type to generate all sorts of new reactions.

And after that first time, that first release, that first melding of bodies and souls, they would fuck everywhere else. In the stockroom, in Harry's new office, on top of one of the displays after they had locked up the store and had closed for the day –

“Harry!” Zayn yelled, causing Harry to topple over where he was standing. “Did you hear me at all?”

“What'd you say?” Harry replied, standing up again, his voice more than a little strained. But at least Harry could be grateful that he was still behind the counter and Zayn couldn't see where Harry was obscenely bulging against the seam of his jeans. Harry reached down to briefly adjust himself and prayed that Zayn didn't come to sit on the counter for at least another twenty minutes. “Sorry – got distracted looking through my email.”

“I asked if you like this new layout,” Zayn said, walking from where he had been standing at the front of the store to brace himself against the counter. He was sweaty and a little out of breath but smiling pleasantly, the muscles of his arms bulging and almost sinful. _Just like how he would look right after you blew his brains out_ , Harry's mind unhelpfully supplied. “It looks loads cleaner, doesn't it? Not as cluttered?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, actually letting his eyes sweep across the floor. It did look far more open – women's clothing against one wall, men and unisex along the other, and then shoes and jewelry in the back, closer to the fitting room and only a few steps away from the register. “Yeah, Zayn, it looks great.”

“Now things aren't quite as mixed up, so that's nice,” Zayn continued. “We can go over my display ideas in a few days. I'm beat now.”

Harry frowned. “You're not coming in tomorrow?”

“No, I've got a conference,” Zayn said. “I thought I told you about it? I've never had to be the opening speaker, so I'm kind of nervous about it.”

Harry shrugged. He felt disappointed, even though he knew it was childish and a little stupid to want Zayn around all the time. It wasn't even like Zayn was in the store every day to begin with – he _was_ really busy and he had confided that there were some projects he had taken on recently that required way more time and feeding than Harry's. But Harry didn't really care about all of that. He still wanted Zayn to be around all the time because Harry liked Zayn so, so much. “I dunno. You probably did.”

Zayn furrowed his brow, reaching across the counter and tipping Harry's chin up. And God – why did Zayn _do_ things like that? Caressing Harry so softly, always touching Harry exactly the way Harry needed him to. It wasn't fair of Zayn to dangle this potential in front of Harry all the time. It just made Harry ache for Zayn more and more desperately. “ _Hey_. Hey, Styles. What's wrong?”

Harry shook his head but Zayn's fingers were still warm and sure underneath his chin. “I'm just being stupid. Ignore me.”

“You're gonna miss me?” Zayn asked, his eyes sparkling playfully as a teasing, goofy smile danced across his face. “Won't know what to do without me?”

Harry smiled too, but he knew it wouldn't read right. Was sure that Zayn would look at him and just _know_ – know that Zayn occupied a special place in Harry's heart and mind. That Harry honestly didn't know what he would be doing without Zayn's advice and quiet assistance – not just when it came to the store, but when it came to restoring Harry's confidence, too. “'Course I'll miss you.”

Zayn blinked, his eyelashes sweeping and dipping across his cheekbones before fanning upwards again. And that wasn't fair, either – that he could make something as common and necessary as blinking look like high art. “I'll miss you too, Styles.”

“Mean it?”

Zayn's smile dimmed from its goofy, megawatt intensity to something quieter but far more honest. “Yeah. I always do when I'm not here.”

Harry scoffed. “You're messing with me.”

Zayn shook his head and his hand slipped from where he had fingers pressing underneath Harry's chin. The movement was slow and purposeful, a slide of digits around Harry's throat so that Zayn's palm came to rest at the nape of Harry's neck. Harry knew that Zayn said they were friends but this – it didn't feel like the way friends touched each other. It didn't even feel like the way Harry and Eleanor touched each other, because Harry felt flushed and hot all over, like he was going to burst out of his skin underneath the focused intensity of Zayn's gaze. Harry held his breath and forced himself to meet Zayn's eyes, even though it also felt like Harry might lose himself there. But maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Harry had found nothing but success with Zayn so far.

“Not messing with you,” Zayn answered earnestly. “I still don't understand how you don't see what I see.”

“What do you see?”

“ _So much_.”

Harry laughed but it was only because he knew he couldn't start crying at work. He was a professional now, damn it. “I see whole galaxies when I look at you, Zayn.”

Zayn exhaled a breath but it was ragged and uneven, and he took a step away from the counter, his fingers dipping over Harry's collarbone as he pulled himself back. Zayn then turned away from Harry's demanding gaze, running wild fingers through his hair before excusing himself, saying that he needed a smoke.

Harry watched him go before locking himself in the tiny bathroom at the back of the store. Harry still felt so hot, jamming the tiny window open and wondering if the smell of ash and cigarette smoke wafting inside was Zayn. Harry wanted to believe it was.

Either way, Harry shoved his jeans and underwear down around his knees and got his cock out, still half-hard from his earlier daydream. It wasn't fucking professional at all, but Harry wrapped his hand around himself, bracing himself against the stall door and pumping his cock fast and desperate. Harry wanted the taste of Zayn's smile on his tongue, and he was chasing the memory of Zayn's phantom touch and the sweet earnestness in Zayn's eyes when he came.

  
  


Zayn came back to the store about forty-five minutes later with sandwiches from the cafe down the street. They ate together in a companionable enough silence, shoulders brushing where they were hiding behind the counter, but everything had changed. Harry was sure they both knew it.

  
  


Things didn't come to a head until something like a week later. Zayn had already showed Harry how he used to set up displays at his store, and they had since moved on to discussing a social media strategy. Harry didn't quite _get_ social media – he had an Instagram and a Twitter, but his friends constantly complained that Harry didn't use them right – so Zayn suggested that Harry move some money to hire Niall on full-time to take charge of inventory and the store's social media accounts. Zayn then talked quite a bit about how important social media was in establishing brand loyalty, and Harry listened very carefully, but it was nice, so nice that Harry could _almost_ forget about how several days ago he had fucked his own fist at work just because Zayn had ran his fingers across Harry's collarbone. Almost.

“I've also talked with someone I know from Google to help you get a WordPress site set up,” Zayn was saying. They were both standing behind the counter, Zayn lounging as Harry rang up a pretty lawyer who worked as a staff attorney for a nonprofit up the street. “A guy I know from this Young Professionals group I used to Co-Chair – Liam Payne. I helped his sister get her accounting software installed, so he owes me and he said he can get the website set up for you in a few weeks.”

“He's just doing this _for free_?” Harry gaped, smiling and waving to the lawyer as she sauntered out of the store, smiling flirtatiously at both Zayn and Harry as she left. Zayn snorted at the woman but kept his own thoughts to himself. “How is that – that's ridiculous, Zayn. Robin and I are going to have to just find the money to pay him.”

“It's really no big deal, Harry,” Zayn replied with a shrug. “People get services donated all the time. Not everyone has to pull out daddy's pocketbook.”

Harry glared but opted to ignore the little comment on his family's wealth. He supposed he did still deserve it for his thoughtlessness when that racist had come into the store a few months ago. Harry was working on being more informed, though, reading up on privilege and researching an organization Zayn recommended that activated youth with wealth to work toward social justice goals. It wasn't much, but maybe in a few months, Harry could be more proactive, more involved. But Harry was getting distracted.

“That's not the point. I just – do you normally get so many of your friends and colleagues involved in your projects?”

Zayn opened his mouth and closed it, a thoughtful expression dancing across his face. Zayn dropped his chin into his hands and raised an eyebrow. “I guess – not really? I mean, Louis works with me and he's both a friend and a colleague, but beyond that – no, not really. I just – I really want this store to succeed and I know a lot of people who I've helped out over the years and who I think would be good connections for you to have.”

“So you're just going above and beyond for Robin, then.”

Zayn shook his head. “I mean, this isn't Robin's store – not really. I know his money is tied up in it, but it's really your store. You're the one involved in the day-to-day and you're the one who's going to make sure it succeeds. I'm going above and beyond for _you_.”

“But why, though, Zayn?” Harry pressed. “It can't just be because of your whole customer loyalty philosophy.”

“It's partially that,” Zayn admitted. “And partially because we're friends now, Harry – I told you. I would be doing the exact same thing for Louis.”

Harry wanted to ask if Zayn would hold Louis by the back of his neck and stare into his eyes, too, but that felt a little mean. Harry suspected Zayn could tell that's where Harry's mind had gone, though, because the tips of Zayn's ears turned scarlet.

“Well, maybe I wouldn't do _everything_ I've done for you for Louis,” Zayn acknowledged. “But I really do think you're a phenomenal guy. And I say that with absolute sincerity.”

Harry turned to Zayn and _God_ – Harry knew that Zayn was being sincere. It was just baffling, though. Knowing that Zayn thought so highly of him, thought that Harry was smart and showing potential. Harry didn't deserve these niceties, but he still craved them desperately. It was this strange self-doubt that Harry seemed to be constantly warring with these days. The idea that Harry wanted greatness, wanted so much more for himself, but also didn't feel deserving of it.

Zayn seemed to sense that, too. Because he had come to stand in front of Harry again, with soft, understanding eyes, reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind Harry's ear.

Something inside of Harry locked into place and Harry was shoving Zayn up against the counter before he could even think about it, threading his fingers through Zayn's sculpted hair and bringing him in for a bruising kiss. Zayn's lips felt even softer and smoother than Harry had ever imagined, slick with saliva from where Zayn was constantly licking and biting over them. Zayn groaned and parted his lips, digging his fingers into Harry's hips for one glorious, heady moment before bringing them up to Harry's shoulder and pushing Harry back against the wall. Harry's hands went skidding against a counter at the back of the register, his limbs flailing against wrapping paper, paper bags, and a business card holder that went clattering against the floor. Harry hardly even noticed the mess at his feet, too mesmerized by the way Zayn was rubbing his fingers against his lips, hazel eyes wide and disbelieving.

Harry hadn't exactly premeditated it, but even if he had, this surely wouldn't have been the reaction Harry was aiming for.

Harry had fucked up.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said, feet slipping on business cards as he tried to make his way back over to Zayn. “Zayn, babe – ”

“Don't call me that,” Zayn interrupted, holding his hands out in front of himself defensively. The hazy afternoon sun caught on the glint of metal on his fingers, making Harry deliriously think of some sort of rare stone that he could never hope to acquire himself. Zayn was just like that – a diamond, a black pearl, precious metal. Harry had fucked up, Harry had fucked up. “Don't – you can't just _do_ that, Harry.”

Harry felt Zayn's words like a punch to the gut. “Wha – why – ?”

“You've got a girlfriend,” Zayn stated. The words sounded almost like a recitation, something Zayn had repeated to himself over and over again. Like a motto, one of those self-help slogans people mumble to themselves in moments of weakness and self-doubt. But that couldn't be right, because Zayn had never even let on that he'd felt anything beyond vague amusement for Harry. Not until last week, when he'd smiled like Harry was the whole world, filling Harry with so much hope he hadn't even known what to do with it – besides get off on it and ruin the moment, obviously. And even then, it wasn't like Harry talked about Eleanor often. Harry had never wanted Zayn to feel jealous or threatened because Harry and Eleanor's relationship _wasn't even like that_. “Or have you forgotten? Or assumed that _I'd_ forgotten?”

Harry shook his head wildly. “No, no! It's not like that.”

“It's not like what?” Zayn sounded almost hysterical, his words coming in fits and starts. “I'm not _doing_ this with you, Harry.”

“We're not doing anything!”

Zayn huffed out a cruel laugh, but it wasn't even like the cruelty was directed at Harry. It sounded far more self-deprecating and that was even worse. “Kissing isn't anything? In what universe?”

Harry reached out for Zayn's hand but Zayn recoiled, pressing his body against the register and regarding Harry with wounded Bambi eyes. This was all so wrong. Harry didn't want Zayn to ever look at him like this – like Harry had misled him. Like Harry had _hurt_ him. “Zayn, please. I'm not – I'm not cheating on Eleanor with you, or whatever it is you're thinking.”

Zayn continued to stare at Harry and Harry hated not knowing what Zayn was thinking. Zayn liked to pretend as though he was mysterious and difficult to read, but Zayn had one of the most expressive faces Harry had ever encountered. Zayn was a man who let grins light up his entire body, whose good moods could buoy an entire crowd. Zayn was like a song Harry had learned all of the lyrics to, a resonating chorus that Harry loved so much he inked it atop blue-green veins.

“El and I've got an open relationship,” Harry started haltingly. “And I should've explained that to you before kissing you. I would – I'm not the type to go behind my girlfriend's back. I'd never do that to her – or to you.” Especially not to Zayn. Harry would never, ever consciously, intentionally hurt Zayn.

“Yes,” Zayn said. He was speaking slowly, every word clearly premeditated and deliberate. “You should've led with that and explained it to me. There were a whole lot of things you should've said before you went ahead and kissed me, really.” Zayn took a deep breath, looking around himself for his jacket and his phone. The disbelief and coolness had seeped out of his eyes, but they were still wild and assessing. “I gotta – I need to go home. I need time to myself to think.”

“Zayn – ” Harry began, but Zayn was already tossing his jacket back on and sweeping out of the store, the bell above the door tinkling softly as he left.

Harry didn't cry at work. He was a professional and professionals don't cry at the register. Harry didn't cry, but he really, really wanted to.

  
  


Zayn didn't come into the store the whole rest of the week.

  
  


Nor the next one.

  
  


Harry was not a meddler. Harry could get lost in himself sometimes – in his own feelings and thoughts. It was why he tried to keep himself busy, why he made to-do lists when he was bored, so that he wouldn't get caught up in scratching old wounds, ripping at emotional stitches. But when it came to other people, their feelings, their emotional health, Harry knew when it was best to leave well enough alone. People who cared always came back. Harry didn't know a lot, but he did know that.

But everything seemed different went it came to Zayn. Harry couldn't explain it, didn't know why it was, really, but it was true. Harry missed him almost like a physical ache. Missed Zayn's smile, his laugh, his relentless teasing. Missed food from the taco truck, or from the Thai restaurant down the street. Missed asking Zayn's opinion on all sorts of things that Harry never really even thought of – gentrification in Oakland, social responsibility, what it meant to be a citizen of the world, shit like that. Zayn's absence from the store made Harry's days feel gloomy and overcast, and Harry's mood was suffering considerably.

Louis was still dropping into the store, but his visits were always strictly business – checking in and still helping Harry with the books, coming over to explain the emails that Zayn was still sending (and those were always nothing but professional, but gone were the random asides and inside jokes, the 2AM emails that made Harry deliriously chase fantasies where Zayn asked Harry over and then Zayn had his wicked way with Harry). All of it was maddening.

“Can you just tell me how he's been doing? Zayn, I mean,” Harry finally blurted out one day about a month away from the massive relaunch party. Louis had come in once more to talk to Harry about a jewelry line Zayn had heard about and thought would be a good fit to carry in the store. It was the sort of thing that Zayn would've once bounded into the store over, sitting on top of the counter and flipping through pages on his iPad with infectious enthusiasm, but this morning all Harry had received was an email with a link and contact information. Harry was a big boy, he could make the connection on his own and arrange the meeting, but Harry still wanted Zayn to be there, too. Wanted Zayn, period.

Louis, to his credit, actually sighed, his face crumpling a little as he scuffed his foot against the tile. It always amazed Harry how different yet similar Zayn and Louis were – both almost contagious with their happiness, but Zayn always tried to keep his contained whereas Louis' humor and good spirit knew no bounds. They even wore confusion in similar ways, letting it soak up their entire body. And Harry knew Louis was baffled right now – tired and at a loss.

“He's fine, sort of,” Louis answered. “Burying himself in all of his projects, mostly. But he also won't tell me what's going on – what happened between you two. Because something did, right? And normally I would just be fucking annoyed with you for getting him into a mood – ”

“You still should be,” Harry interrupted. “I'm the one who fucked up.”

Louis laughed. “Figured as much. But honestly, Zayn doesn't _get_ like this about people. He doesn't get upset. Like – ever. But he also never puts as much into a project as he's done with you and your store. You're a good kid. Anyone who would try to fix the mess their selfish sister left has to be, deep down. So whatever you did, just try to fix it, yeah? He really likes you and I think all he wants is for you to show that you think he's worth the same amount of effort. The same amount of effort that this store takes. Cuz that's what relationships are all about, yeah? Time? Effort?”

Harry scratched at the inside of his arm. Louis was really an insightful guy. You would never know it by his penchant for wearing sweatpants most days and hitting Harry with rolled up magazines whenever he discovered tiny errors in Harry's books.

“But he's not responding to my emails when I ask him over for lunch and to like, talk things over.”

“But this isn't a work thing, right?” Louis pressed. “Like, whatever this is, I'm guessing that it has nothing to do with this store. Not really. His email is for work and that's it. Sometimes he uses it for personal things, but right now he's probably mentally cataloged any emails between you and him as being strictly business. You've got his cell, though. Text him. He might not respond, but then again, he might.”

“And then what do I say?” Harry said. “How do I show him I'm worth the effort?”

Louis shrugged, the ends of his lips pulling up in a smile. “God, I dunno, kid. You'll figure it out. You can start out by making a list or something. We all know how much you like your stupid ass to-do lists.”

  
  


It took Harry the whole weekend to work up the courage to text Zayn, but when he did, Zayn actually responded immediately to Harry's request that they meet up somewhere near Zayn's house for coffee. Harry could feel something close to hope beat in his chest again.

  
  


Harry took the bus out to a small cafe in East Oakland that was actually nowhere near Zayn's condo. Harry was flustered, fifteen minutes late and worried that Zayn would be annoyed with Harry's tardiness, but Zayn hadn't even arrived yet, either. Harry put in an order for crepes and two coffees, bringing the food over to a booth towards the back of the cafe and emailing a local purse designer he had actually met at the Jack of All Trades Market the week before.

Zayn arrived about ten minutes after that, the right leg of his jeans rolled up and a helmet in his hand as his eyes darted about the cafe. Harry hadn't even known that Zayn owned a bike, but Harry filed the tidbit away into the mental folder he kept full of random insights into Zayn's life outside of his consulting job. But of course Zayn was a biker, at least on days where he wasn't flitting around the Bay Area for work, because he cared about the environment, and about advocating for healthy, walkable communities, and all sorts of things that Harry didn't know that much about.

Harry thrust his arm up, waving it until Zayn caught sight of him. Zayn smiled, this beautiful, wide grin, but then he seemed to remember himself and the smile slid off his face entirely. Instead Zayn looked guarded, settling into the booth across from Harry and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Harry hated it.

“Thanks for coming to see me,” Harry said, grinning and hoping it would be infectious enough to get Zayn to smile again. It wasn't. “I know it's your day off and you could be anywhere else but – I. I just really needed to see you.”

Zayn shrugged his shoulders and picked up the coffee that Harry had ordered for him. Harry hated this aloofness, but at least Zayn was sighing contentedly at the cup Harry had made just how Zayn liked – half and half, just a touch of real cane sugar. “No problem.”

“I know you probably don't want to talk to me, but Louis said that he thought it might be for the best if we had a real chat and I agree with him.”

That, at least, was enough to inspire a real reaction. Zayn groaned, running his fingers over his beard. “Fucking Louis and his meddling. I knew I should've sent one of the interns over to talk to you instead.”

“He said that he's never seen you this upset about anyone, really, and it had to mean something,” Harry continued. “He also said that I'm not as bad as I pretend to be and that I should make a list pointing that out or something.”

Zayn blinked at Harry, his eyelashes sweeping against his cheekbones before soaring upwards again. “Why are you giving me a recap of your conversation with Louis?”

“Because it serves as the perfect preface to what I am about to reveal to you right now,” Harry answered, all false bravado as he pulled out Eleanor's iPad, unlocking it to reveal the PowerPoint he had agonized over the night before.

Zayn, for his part, was absolutely speechless for at least a solid minute, opening and closing his mouth as he stared, wide-eyed and incredulous, at the first slide of Harry's presentation. Harry could understand the amazement – it wasn't every day a grown man made a bright pink PowerPoint presentation titled “Reasons Why Zayn Malik, Esq. Should Date Harry Styles, Failing Store Owner.”

“Did you really make a slideshow of why I should date you?” Zayn sputtered. “ _Really_ , Styles?”

“I did!” Harry said, propping the iPad up on top of the table. “I – I figured that you're a pragmatic guy. Very rational. You're guided by facts, but at the end of the day, you also factor in your emotions. So I assumed I would need to delineate pros and cons of dating me, appealing to both your mind and your heart, and that would help you make a decision. And hopefully the right one.”

Zayn snickered a little derisively, muttering something that sounded a lot like, “Failing store owner, really?” But Harry could also see the creeping edges of Zayn's mirth, the welcome return of a sparkle to his eye. That sparkle was good – Harry could definitely work with that. Good humor always lit Zayn up entirely, opened up his whole body and highlighted the true beauty of his being. Harry wanted a piece of that light, wanted to know what it was like to bask in Zayn's glow. Harry had only been exposed to a miniscule piece, really, but even that had been wholly transformative.

“Right, well, first slide!” Harry announced, tapping through to reveal a slide with a draft of Harry's bio to put up on the store website as well as a professional headshot that Robin had paid for two days ago. Zayn put his head in his hands and made a small crowing noise. “Here is relevant information about me, Harry Edward Styles. As like a bit of a refresher and also to make you feel really impressed about the presenter's credentials. The presenter, of course, being me.”

“Is that really the draft bio you wrote for the website?” Zayn asked, lifting his head up from his hands to peer closer at the screen. “Harry, this is entirely too self-deprecating. You have to _own_ your achievements, recognize just how much you've accomplished.”

“Which leads me to the next slide!” Harry replied with a flourish. Harry had spent several hours brainstorming with Eleanor to come up with perks Zayn would receive if he entered into a romantic relationship with Harry. The partial list included access to Harry's above-average cuddling skills, excellent at-home catering services, a memory that always recalled the dates of special events, and companionship.

Harry had thought he might be laying it on too thick, especially with the last one. But Eleanor had smiled at him, that almost sad quirk of lips she made sometimes, and stated that so long as Harry remained sincere, open, and honest, he would never come across as cliché or disingenuous.

“There are many people out there who would offer you the world,” Harry started while Zayn's eyes went glassy taking the list in. “And I can tell you right off the bat that the world is exactly what you deserve. Compared to you and what you could get, I'm not the smartest or the best looking or any of that, but I do believe that I am enterprising and committed. I can offer you honesty and trust and the constant drive to prove that I am worth your while.”

“Of course you're worth my while, Harry,” Zayn said, his face this strange cross of sadness and fondness. “You're – God. I don't know how you can wake up and look in the mirror and not see yourself for what you really are?”

“And that's a con,” Harry interrupted, flipping through to the next slide. Harry didn't need Eleanor's help to make this particular list – Harry already knew his failings. Harry knew that he was entirely too hard on himself, knew that he had to try _so hard_ just for basic things, simple endeavors, minor acceptances. Things that other people took for granted. Harry had gotten good at hiding his self-doubts, but Zayn saw right through the mask immediately, and if they dated, Zayn would only realize how deeply that well ran.

“I don't see your insecurity as a con,” Zayn replied. “I see it as a challenge. An obstacle – a potential source of tension, maybe. But it's not a con. None of those things on that list are cons. I hate that word – it makes things seem like attributes that can't be negotiated or overcome. Something insurmountable. Nothing's insurmountable, not really.”

Harry tilted his head. He'd never thought of it like that before, but then again, Zayn was the expert, the one who knew all the right words and had all of the strategies. You would never know it by looking at him, but Zayn was probably the most optimistic person Harry had ever met. And instead of finding the optimism annoying, Harry couldn't help but find it endearing, inspiring, and refreshing, just like everything else about Zayn.

“And I don't like the idea of taking this question – should we hook up, should we not hook up – ”

“I'm not proposing hooking up. I'm proposing dating.”

Zayn nodded, fanning his hands out across the table as he accepted Harry's point. “Okay. I don't like the idea of taking the question of if we should date or not and boiling it down into a list. I appreciate what you are doing, I really do, but this – I already know all of the amazing things about you. God, Harry, I was so attracted to you from that first moment I walked into your store that I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to do my job right. But that's – that's not the issue. The _issue_ – the challenge, the difficulty here – is that you have a girlfriend.”

Harry frowned. “But – but I explained to you. We have an open relationship.”

Zayn sighed and drummed his fingernails on the counter. “Yeah, I know. But I just – I don't know if I'm comfortable with that. I don't like the idea of having competition.”

“But you and El wouldn't be competition. You would both be offering me entirely different things.”

“That's completely fine for some people, I know it is,” Zayn explained. “I'm not knocking the idea of open and poly relationships. But I'm twenty-eight, a long-term thinker, and somewhat of a traditionalist. I've got everything else I want – a great career, money in the bank, my volunteerism and community service. I don't like drama. Not saying that you and Eleanor would be drama, but it's a potential, and I have to consider the risk. And ultimately, partaking in an open relationship wouldn't even be what I want. I want marriage. I want marriage and kids and three dogs and a house big enough to accommodate all of us comfortably. If you're not thinking of those same things, if that isn't your end goal, then the slideshow isn't really going to sway me, now is it?”

Harry gulped, grabbing the iPad and pulling it against his chest almost defensively. “You _really_ want monogamy then?”

Zayn smiled and nodded, the stretch of his lips almost pained with regret. “I do, Harry.”

Harry bit at his bottom lip. Harry didn't know if he wanted marriage and kids and three dogs right now. He was still young and hadn't felt the need to make things official with Eleanor, even though his parents had been badgering him to for ages. But Harry did like the idea of sitting up in a big, old house with Zayn, painting rooms and redoing the kitchen. Liked the idea of making Zayn breakfast in bed on Sundays, of lazy mornings together and even lazier nights curled up together in the living room, limbs all tangled together. Harry liked the idea of asking Zayn about all of his projects, liked the mental image of them putting on house parties to raise money for Zayn's charity work. _Harry liked Zayn_ , more than Harry had even allowed himself to fully consider. Harry didn't know if he wanted marriage and kids and three dogs right now, but he didn't want to discount the possibility entirely, either, was definitely open to the idea of Zayn trying to win him over by any means necessary. Zayn, and only Zayn. Harry could do that. Harry _wanted_ that.

“It's not in the presentation, but what if I said I could offer you monogamy, too?” Harry asked.

Zayn shook his head. “Don't say things you don't mean.”

“But I _do_ mean it, though. What if I said I could do that – for you?”

“I don't want the skeletons of your last relationship hanging over us,” Zayn said. “I – I can't deal with the thought of you breaking up with Eleanor just because you're desperate to fuck me.”

“But it's not that, Zayn. I'm not solely interested in you for sex. I – just because I'm currently in an open relationship doesn't mean that's all I want out of life. I haven't ever even asked anyone to date me while I've been with El. Zayn, I'm interested in all of you. Everything. Your charm, your intelligence, your wit. The way your eyes widen and then narrow right before you're about to start teasing me. I want that – I want _everything_. And I knew it from that very first day, too. I didn't even want to ask you about dating initially because I knew that it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to ask you to share me when I wouldn't ever ask the same of you. I'm far too selfish. I want you all to myself. So if that's what it would take to have you, too – yeah. Okay. Monogamy. Let's do it.”

Something hesitant and almost hopeful skittered across Zayn's face and then it was gone, replaced by careful blankness. “Do you honestly realize what you're asking for, Haz? _Seriously_. Don't you dare get my hopes up or play with my emotions.”

“I'm an adult,” Harry replied. “You've taught me how to read the fine print. I won't ever hurt you. I know exactly what I'm offering.”

Zayn let his fingers creep across the table and Harry caught them in between his own palms, bringing them to his mouth to kiss Zayn's fingertips. It felt like a promise. It almost felt like how Harry had always imagined he would feel when the six months of the store project was over. Almost – but better.

  
  


All that being said, Harry didn't go home and promptly break up with Eleanor, even though that was certainly the impression Harry conveyed to Zayn. It just – it wasn't that sort of story, although maybe it should've been.

Harry _liked_ Zayn. Harry liked Zayn more than he had ever liked anyone before, and he was excited at the prospect of really getting to know Zayn now. Learning the back story behind his quirks, mesmerizing the taste of all his smiles. But Harry was a coward. Harry was scared of change, absolute terrified by the prospect of failure. Harry liked Zayn, but a part of Harry was afraid that Zayn would come to see how stupid Harry really was. Would realize that Harry wasn't worth it, would remove himself from the equation so that all Harry had left _was_ his longing, the crush that had already begun blooming into something else.

So Harry didn't go home and break up with Eleanor, even though that was what he promised Zayn, even though that was, admittedly, the right thing to do, to end a relationship that Harry no longer saw going anywhere. Instead, Harry went home and baked cookies to bring into the store the next morning, smiling crookedly when Zayn sauntered in with a megawatt smile and eyes as warm as the Sahara. Guilt twisted through Harry's guts, especially when Zayn pressed slick chocolate lips to Harry's cheek, fingers sliding along the soft skin of Harry's hips, but the shame still didn't stop Harry from sinking into Zayn's touch and lying prettily whenever Zayn asked for updates about Harry and El's breakup.

  
  


The last month of the project was an absolute whirlwind. Harry was putting more hours into the store than he ever had before, especially once he and Zayn began planning the relaunch party. Well. Planning the relaunch party and tending to the now somewhat steady stream of customers, and watching guys from some construction firm Zayn knew install Harry's new logo, or updating the fun, pun-laced chalkboards that they had taken to setting up outside on the sidewalk, or hiding in Harry's office after they'd shut up the store for the day, Zayn resting in between Harry's thighs and running his tongue over the juncture behind Harry's ear. It was _amazing_ , in that slow, drippy way that Harry always viewed time when he was sinking into something new and beautiful.

As far as Zayn knew, Harry and El had stopped sleeping together and were just working out the final little logistics before breaking up completely. This was far from the truth. Harry had offhandedly mentioned that Zayn seemed interested in pursuing a relationship, and also that Zayn wasn't particularly pleased with the idea of dating someone in an open relationship, but Eleanor didn't know that this was something that Zayn couldn't be budged on. Harry had tried to make the reality plain multiple times, opening his mouth and willing the words out, but then Harry would catch sight of Eleanor yawning into the palm of her hand, or bending over a book, mouthing words as she read, and the fight would just zap out of Harry. He was terrified of leaving this. Maybe even less so than of leaving El – she was his best friend and they would always mean something to each other – but Harry truly enjoyed the quiet domesticity, the idea of an Easy Bake relationship that already had all of the components put together. There was none of that surety with Zayn.

If Harry had any degree of foresight, he would know that juggling Zayn and Eleanor and their entirely contrasting expectations was not a long-term sustainable strategy. And it all came to a head on the night of the store relaunch party.

  
  


On the surface, everything about the relaunch party was a roaring success.

Harry, Niall, Louis, and Zayn spent all day getting the store ready. Harry had already done a fair amount of papering and outreach throughout the neighborhood, leaving fliers and business cards at restaurants around Downtown Oakland and charming the pants off of other store owners in the neighborhood, smiling and batting his eyes prettily as he encouraged them to stop by. He'd also _finally_ gotten his social media shit all sorted, asking Niall to take over the accounts, and Niall had done a tremendous job getting the word out on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and a few other frequently used local social calendars. New merchandise from Southern California arrived the actual day of the party, so Niall and Harry frantically tagged and entered the new products into the system before putting out fresh displays. Simultaneously, Louis and Zayn tinkered with the store's lighting system and swept the entire floor before bringing DJ equipment in from Zayn's car and rolling it to the back of the store. When Harry repeatedly asked who the DJ was, Zayn always just tugged on one of Harry's curls and smiled enigmatically, saying that Harry would have to just wait and see.

El and a few of her university friends came around four-thirty, which was about the same time that a small catering company owned by one of Zayn's friends arrived with hors d'oeuvres, wine and beer, and a small round table. Harry watched anxiously as the company set up, relaxing only when he felt Zayn's hands on his shoulders, squeezing him reassuringly. El caught Harry's eyes from across the room where she was eagerly chatting Louis up, grinning wide and open at the sight of Zayn's hands on Harry's skin. Harry was sure that she meant it positively, but considering all of the secrets Harry was juggling, he couldn't help but interpret it as something more menacing.

The party officially started around five, people from throughout the neighborhood sweeping in and enthusiastically remarking on the tremendous turnaround that the store had taken over the past six months. Once the alcohol started flowing and the store became hot and pressed with bodies, Harry collapsed into the heady rush of it all, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, and smiling so hard his face started to hurt. Harry got so swept up in the need to network and show off everything that he'd accomplished that Harry hardly even noticed that Zayn had slunk away and set himself up behind the DJ booth, spinning a mix of Harry's faves as well as some of the tracks Zayn was always trying to cajole Harry into playing over the store's audio system – The Weeknd and Drake and smooth R&B that made Harry feel slinky and hot. Harry wanted to fuck the DJ, because of course Zayn would be one, would have that skill, would be the consultant slash business owner slash frequent actor in Harry's nastiest fantasies slash DJ. _Of course_.

Robin and Harry's mother arrived somewhere around six thirty, at which point Harry had completely lost track of the number of sales they'd made and the catering company had already gone through two kegs. Harry waved at his parents and returned to his conversation with some blogger with green and purple hair, not even noticing when his parents corralled Eleanor close to the DJ booth where Zayn was still spinning his fabulous mix.

On the surface, it all looked good – better than good. On the surface everything looked _great_. Harry was selling _his_ merchandise in _his_ store on _his_ night, the night relaunching the store and branding it as his own. And he had everyone of importance in the building – Eleanor, his parents, and Zayn.

But Harry turned away from his conversation with the blogger with green and purple hair to the realization that Eleanor was stalking outside of the building, a frown furrowing her normally agreeable face. And Zayn was calling Louis over to the DJ booth, hastily handing over his headphones and pulling on a jacket.

Harry didn't know what had happened, had absolutely no clue what was even going on, really, but dread was already clogging his bloodstream, swelling his throat and making it hard to breathe – hard to _think_. Of course this night wouldn't go smoothly. Of course the juggling act would be up. Of course, of fucking course. Harry was a fuck-up, a failure, and a can of paint and a few sales would never really change that.

Harry should've maybe walked after Eleanor, followed his long-term girlfriend out of the store to figure everything out, determine whether Harry's worst nightmare had come to fruition or not. Determine whether Harry's little secret had been found out. Because Zayn and Eleanor _had_ been standing close together. Not talking to each other, but standing in close proximity to each other. Maybe one overheard something. Or maybe not.

But Harry didn't walk after Eleanor. He didn't go track down his girlfriend and ask what she said to Zayn, demanding answers and making a scene when he was the one who had been fucking up, same as always. Instead, Harry turned and followed Zayn through the hallway leading out back.

“Zayn!” Harry called, half-walking, half-running down the tiny, dark hallway and dodging cardboard boxes. Zayn's movements were sharp and jerky and everything was all wrong. Harry's entire body felt heavy with dread, from his fingertips to his eyeballs. “Zayn – please stop, babe! Just – just talk to me, please!”

Zayn did, coming to a full stop so suddenly that Harry almost ran into him and bumped his shoulder against the wall. Zayn watched Harry's bumbling dispassionately, not with the corner of his mouth quirked like he normally did when Harry demonstrated his clumsiness.

“Zayn,” Harry huffed once he finally steadied himself. “ _Hey_. Hey, babe. What – what's going on? Is something wrong? What, did I – ?”

“Yes,” Zayn interrupted, voice steely and eyes hard. “Something is wrong and it's because of _you_ and I'm _going_.”

Harry blinked, gaping open-mouthed but not entirely taken aback. Zayn didn't – that wasn't the voice Zayn used when he was talking to Harry. Zayn had a professional tone he adopted sometimes, the voice he put on when he was explaining one of his marketing recommendations or teaching Harry how to use a new feature of the accounting software, but even then he just sounded like a teacher. And every other time Zayn was around Harry these days, he was grinning full and open, eyes wide and twinkling like some cartoon character before he leaned in and pressed pillow-soft lips to Harry's cheek. Zayn didn't ever stand in front of Harry with his arms crossed over his chest, shoulders thrown back like he was gearing up for a fight. Zayn didn't thrust his responsibilities onto Louis and leave through the back entrance. And Zayn certainly didn't scold Harry or speak to him with coldness and malice. But he was doing all of that right now, and it was all entirely Harry's fault.

“Babe, just let me explain,” Harry plead. “I – I'll do whatever you need to fix it.”

Zayn shook his head, arms still firmly barred across his chest. “There's _nothing_ to fix, Harry. I'm good! I really, really am.”

“Zayn, _please_ ,” Harry begged, words spilling out of his mouth wildly. Nothing was making sense. The whole world had gone tipsy-turvy in a matter of moments and Zayn still hadn't let on why he was mad even though Harry _knew_. He knew it in his bones that Zayn must have found out somehow what Harry had always known about himself all along – that he was a failure. That he wasn't worth the effort. That he always just fucked everything up. “I can't explain and make things right if you don't tell me what I've done wrong.”

“You're still with her!” Zayn blurted loudly. He looked about himself wildly, but then once he seemed to realize no one had overheard and was coming running through the store, he continued speaking, this time with his voice lowered. “You told me that you were giving me monogamy. _You_ said that. _You_ promised me that. But it is obvious that you and Eleanor are still together and even – according to your step-father – very, very close to an engagement. Practically fucking days away – if you haven't put a ring on it already!”

“That's not true,” Harry sputtered, his mind spinning into overdrive. He felt so hot, hands clammy and shaking at his sides. Zayn must have overheard Robin, his mother, and El talking. Zayn must have overheard Robin asking that damned question for the millionth fucking time, and Eleanor probably just smiled coyly, rubbing her ring finger same as she always did. Fuck. _Fuck_. Harry should've seen this coming. Harry should've broken up with Eleanor like he said he would. Harry shouldn't have lied to Zayn. Harry shouldn't have gone around making a mess of everything, but that's just what he was good at. Making messes, fucking everything up, and ultimately settling because you can't reach for the stars when you're a fuck-up. “El and I are definitely not close to an engagement. Robin is always telling people that – ”

“So what part of that isn't true?” Zayn interrupted. “Just _that_ part of it? Or all of it?”

Harry opened his mouth, poised to retort, but nothing came out. He couldn't speak, couldn't even begin to form the words, even though his brain was screaming that he needed to deny it, to weave a tale so eloquent and fanciful that Zayn would _have_ to believe him, would have to stay.

Zayn scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I knew you were going to do this to me. I was clear – I told you exactly what I needed – and you still didn't listen. I _knew_ it. I wanted to believe that I was different, that I meant something to you, but it's whatever. It's fine. _I'm good_.”

“Zayn – ” Harry started but Zayn had already raised a hand and turned back down the hallway, pushing the door to the store open and getting swallowed up in the late spring storm.

  
  


Harry returned to his party because he had to, because Zayn had taught Harry to go above and beyond for his customers. Harry smiled and continued to shake people's hands. He made sales and continued to show off all of the work he put into the store. He accepted compliments and business cards, tucking them into his wallet and promising to follow-up on new connections.

And then, when he got the chance, Harry made his way over to the small catering table and had a pint of beer.

And then, after the party was over and Niall helped Harry close the store, Robin insisted that he and Anne would take Harry and El out for drinks as a celebration. Because this was a happy night, and Harry was a happy person. Or at least he tricked himself into believing he was, drinking until he couldn't even remember Zayn's words or the hurt that strained Zayn's countenance.

  
  


The next morning Harry woke up to an email from Zayn politely explaining that he was transitioning leadership of the remainder of Harry's project over to Louis.

Harry cried all day.

  
  


“Zayn? It's uh – it's Harry. Which I guess you know. You have a smart phone and caller ID. But I. I uh. I really, really need to talk to you. _Please_. I just. I know I fucked up and I – I shouldn't have lied to you. I shouldn't have done that to you. There's no excusing what I did, but I – I'm losing my mind with this whole silent treatment thing. This whole moving everything over to Louis thing. I know I deserved it, but please. Just let me explain. Just let me – ”

  
  


“We are no longer working together,” Zayn recited tonelessly. “So I don't particularly see why you felt compelled to blow up my phone and email my assistant until I agreed to a meeting?”

Harry exhaled a long breath and averted his eyes. Five days after the relaunch party, Harry had finally managed to corner Zayn into meeting him. Although, “corner” probably wasn't the word Harry would've preferred to use. But scheduling an appointment with Zayn through his assistant – well. Cornering is essentially what Harry had managed to do.

They were seated across from each other in a cafe, everything about Zayn's posture screaming distance and discomfort. Arms crossed over his chest, lips taught and drawn in a harsh, even line. Zayn hardly even resembled the smiling, goofy boy he typically was. And his voice – he had the same tone he'd used at the launch party, biting off words tinged with hurt and anger, although now the malice had deepened, maturing into disappointment and something that sounded almost like regret.

“The project is basically over and Louis is your main contact with my firm. There is no need for you and I to continue communication. Any future inquiries can be forwarded to Louis. How many different ways do I have to say this before you get it?”

Harry wanted to touch Zayn, wanted to make everything right by bringing Zayn's hands in between his own and kissing Zayn's fingertips. A reaffirmation of their earlier promise. But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't. Zayn would see it as a manipulation and he'd be right. “Zayn – ”

“I don't want anything to do with you,” Zayn interrupted, dropping the facade of bland professionalism entirely. “I – I don't know what you're even attempting to do by asking me to coffee today.”

“I want to figure out how I can fix this!” Harry exclaimed. Several heads at the coffee shop turned and Harry sighed, running shaking fingers through his hair. When Harry spoke again, he took great care to make sure his voice was lowered. He wasn't going to make a scene. He wasn't a child – he was a professional and an adult. An adult who owned up to his mistakes and did everything in his power to make things up to people he had harmed. “You weren't returning any of my calls and I want to _fix it_ Zayn. Please. I know it probably wasn't best to go through your assistant, and I know you're probably really upset with her, but I've got to do this for you. Whatever it takes – just let me fix it.”

Zayn glared at Harry but it wasn't even like he was mad, really. And the lack of heat in his expression hurt more than anything else. Everything about Zayn was normally so warm and soft, and now he was nothing but coldness and sharp, harsh angles, from the unforgiving jut of his chin to the removed, assessing look in his eyes. “You really have no clue. You honestly can't even begin to see how fucked up all of this is.”

“What – ”

“I've been working for you,” Zayn began, holding up his fingers and counting them off like he was checking off items on one of Harry's to-do lists. “I was hired by _your parents_ to provide you a service – to help save your failing business. Halfway through my contract, you began flirting with me and falling all over yourself to get in my pants – ”

Harry blanched and suddenly his hands felt very, very clammy. “No, no I wasn't – ”

“You _were_ ,” Zayn hissed. “You were flirting with me and it was – it was cute. Endearing, flattering. I encouraged it, I found every reason to touch you and come into the store, and that's – that's my bad. I shouldn't have gone along with it. But then I found out about the girlfriend and everything became an absolute mess in my head, as you can imagine. Because I liked you, but we were working together – I was working for you – and fuck, I _really_ liked you and I told you. I really like – _liked_ – you and you say you really like me, too, but in the end you were just leading me on until the launch party – ”

“That's not what was going on, Zayn.”

“It was and that's _fine_. I realized you were leading me on as some sort of weird side-project while you and Eleanor got ready to play house and I – I've gotten over it and now I can go back to my life and my work. Because I'm not going to enable your immaturity anymore. I'm not going to enable your childish behavior, and I'm certainly not going to be a party to your infidelity or whatever it is you do or don't want to call it – ”

“ _Zayn_.”

“Fine. I'm not going to be a party in your fucked-up open relationship. I'm serious, Harry,” Zayn said, standing and throwing a crisp twenty dollar bill on the table. Zayn hadn't even finished his coffee. “I'm really, really serious. I can't do this. I can't be that person for you, Harry, and I told you that from jump. I can only teach you so much. If you're not willing to listen, then it's ultimately just – it's just _whatever_.”

Harry had been on the verge of tears so much over the past few days but the feeling coursing cold through Harry's veins – this was something else entirely. Harry stood himself, reaching across the table to grab at Zayn's hands, at anything, but Zayn was already so far, turning and walking away as though that was it. Six months working closely together, six months of friendship. Six months of Harry wanting Zayn and pining and then fucking up, fucking up _so badly_. Gone in six fucking seconds.

“Zayn – ”

“It's been great doing business with you, Mr. Styles,” Zayn said, tossing it over his shoulder. His tone was blasé and everything about it felt sudden and final.

Harry gasped, clutching at his chest as he watched Zayn walk away. Zayn had left him all alone in a busy Oakland coffee shop.

It would take him a few minutes to realize it, and by then Harry's coffee was entirely cold and a fly had attacked his bagel. Harry wasn't _just_ alone, hadn't _just_ been left here to stew.

Harry was heartbroken, too.

And that had to mean something.

Right?

  
  


Right.

  
  


It took Harry a few days. A few days of crying and feeling like he had nothing more to cry about before crying some more. A few days of not knowing how to explain his melancholia to Eleanor. A few days of intense self-loathing, alternating staring between Zayn's number on his phone and staring at Zayn's last terse email on his laptop. It took Harry a few days, but eventually he realized that pity and loathing wouldn't help anything. He needed to get himself together. He needed to _do_ something.

It wouldn't be a pretty process, but Harry was going to try and do the right thing. He woke up and the storm that had rattled through Northern California had finally passed, leaving the air feeling crisp and new. Promising. April showers bring May flowers and all that.

Harry grabbed his laptop, his notepad, and a pen before hauling his old bike out of the closet and heading down to the coffee shop on West Grand Ave. Harry texted Niall, asking if he could open the shop while Harry sorted a few things out. Niall was more than capable of manning the store on his own at this point, at least for a few hours, and for that Harry was eternally grateful. Harry would never regret the decision to bring Niall on.

Harry ordered a sandwich and a mocha before sitting outside and pulling up a blank Word document on his computer. Harry typed “Six Month Plan” out as the title before stopping, rubbing the pad of his index finger against his dry bottom lip, pouting when he scraped dead skin off with his fingernail. Harry already felt intimidated, completely daunted by the task in front of him. Harry made to-do lists, could draft up bullet points of pros and cons. But it was always the sort of long-term planning things that he struggled with.

Harry sipped at his mocha and stared at the blank Word Document, willing for a timeline to magically manifest and make his entire life easier. But Harry didn't have Zayn anymore – didn't have someone around to put his entire life in order, to break months down with clear goals and deliverables, metrics and tasks and objectives. Harry didn't have Zayn anymore, but Harry wanted Zayn, wanted Zayn more than Harry had ever wanted anything in his life, and that even included the store that was now Harry's whole existence.

So maybe that's where Harry needed to start – with what Harry wanted. What Harry wanted to achieve – what he was working toward. Harry turned to his Word Document and typed out “Goals” at the top of the page, right underneath the title. And then in bullet-point form, Harry outlined all of the things he wanted for himself: long-term success with the store, his parents' approval, Zayn.

He would _always_ have his parents' approval – Harry knew that on some level. And thanks to Zayn, Louis, and Niall, Harry was closely approximating something like success with the store, which was good. It was very good. But Harry didn't have Zayn, so the other two things almost felt like they didn't matter – as though they were lower-ranking goals. So Harry re-organized his list and removed the bullet-points, instead selecting a number ranking. It looked right. It _felt_ right. Something like the ghost of a grin danced across Harry's face.

Harry spent the rest of his morning brainstorming ways to make his goals a reality. There were things he needed to do, like bringing on more people at the store. And there were things Harry _wanted_ to do, like going back to school, taking a few classes. Maybe enrolling at the local community college and getting a certificate in Entrepreneurship. All of them led to one of his three goals – making the store a success, earning his parent's love and approval, or finding a way back to Zayn. And perhaps it was pure folly for Harry to think that Zayn might ever give him the time of day again, but Harry was going to try. If he made himself a better man in the process, then the hard work wouldn't be wasted either way.

Around noon, Harry slammed his laptop lid closed and chugged the last cold dregs of his mocha. He biked down to the store, did an inventory check, and he spent the rest of the afternoon steeling himself, mentally preparing for change.

  
  


When Harry and Eleanor did finally break up, it turned out to be a much quieter moment than Harry would've ever expected. Harry closed up the shop after a long day at work and then went to Whole Foods and agonized over what he was going to make for dinner. He thought about a nice steak and wine, but that would be rather cruel, wouldn't it? To wine and dine his girlfriend only to tell her he wanted it to end – that he'd gone and fallen for someone else? So Harry just bought Italian soda and all the ingredients to make pizza instead.

Eleanor came home, rubbing at her eyes and smearing mascara across the back of her hand as usual. She kissed Harry, her lip gloss tacky where it skimmed his skin, and they took slices of pizza and sat on the bed, their bare feet tangled around each other.

Harry was drinking his Italian soda out of a giant Cal novelty cup, the type that are handed out at football games against major rivals. Harry set it down on the floor before running greasy fingers through his hair. They had been laughing about something, some thoughtless comment a student had made, maybe, but suddenly they were both somber, almost like they both subconsciously realized what was coming next.

“You want to talk, huh?” Eleanor finally asked, her skin flushed and warm at all the points they were connected. “You've got that thoughtful look on your face.” She reached over and bopped Harry on the nose, the same sort of thing she used to do when they were kids and she'd complain that Harry had gotten all lost in the clouds again.

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “I – I'm just. I'm really sorry. I don't think this is working for me anymore.”

Harry wasn't entirely sure how he had been expecting Eleanor to react. They'd been together for years now, and even if it wasn't passionate, even if it wasn't the thing of romantic comedies, it was still _something_. The most substantial relationship of Harry's life. He'd been so afraid that Eleanor might cry, or yell, or demand explanation, context, anything more than what Harry was willing to provide.

But Eleanor just hummed, tilting her head to the side. “It's been a few months coming, hasn't it?” Eleanor sighed, running her fingers through her hair and smiling glumly. “You've been married to the store, I've been married to academia. We've both been distracted and unwilling to change.”

“Not just distracted,” Harry admitted hesitantly.

“Yes, you're right,” Eleanor replied, each word slow-coming and thoughtful. “You weren't just distracted, weren't just busy with the store. You fell in love, too.”

Harry blushed but didn't deny it. It wouldn't be fair to El, and she already knew him better than anyone else, knew exactly how Harry had been feeling about Zayn even when he still wasn't ready to admit it out loud. At the end of the day she _was_ his best friend.

“I figured this would happen.” Eleanor laughed. “That this arrangement – the open relationship thing – my idea, a way for us to still see what was out there, would be what spelled our end. But it's – I don't feel sad about it. You've been mad for that boy and I _know_ something happened the night of the relaunch party, that I had a part in whatever went wrong between the two of you. And that's not right. I – you know I only want you to be happy. So you should try to take that chance with Zayn. Definitely.”

Harry blinked up at Eleanor, forcing down the tears that were threatening to burst forward. Harry already knew that if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. Not for a long time. But Harry – God. Harry didn't deserve people like Eleanor in his life. People who were so thoughtful and considerate and caring. People who didn't hold his faults against him. People who saw his shortcomings but didn't yell at him for being a shit head, just held him by the hand and encouraged him to be better.

“Will you still be there for me?” Harry asked. It was what they always used to say to each other, before they decided to just date – _I'll always be there for you_. What they would say after every heart-wrenching break-up, after every time they decided to leap back into the dating game again. But at the end of the day, they knew that they would end up together at the end of it all. Thelma and Louise, David and Jonathan, a more platonic Bonnie and Clyde. Everlasting companionship, however they managed it. Harry just needed to make sure that the offer was still on the table. Even after this heart-wrenching break-up, after this conscious decision to leap back into a world Harry had thought he'd sworn off. “Will you still be waiting?”

“Maybe not this time, love,” Eleanor answered gently. “As a friend – _yes_ , of course. But I – I think I would like to try the real, consuming love thing, too.”

“Do I know him?”

Eleanor shrugged, smiling slyly. “You do. But you'll know him better, soon, I hope. I met him at your party.”

Harry wiped at his eyes, laughing roughly when the back of his hands came away wet. “I'll go back to my parents'. The apartment – it's in your name. Everything here is yours. I – I'll start over. I think I need that.”

Eleanor swiped underneath Harry's eyelid, her fingers soft but sure where they brushed Harry's skin. “You'll do great, Harry. You always, _always_ do.”

  
  


  
  


Harry had assumed that he wouldn't be able to see Zayn for another six months at the very least. But it actually ended up being something like eight.

The thing that Harry had been banking on was the basic premise that sometimes urban areas actually feel like small towns. Once you get into a certain circle, it's easy to learn all of the names and faces. And Harry definitely got into a certain circuit. The young, hotshot entrepreneur circuit. The changing face of Oakland circuit. The “let's invite that young millenial allegedly doing something right to our conference” circuit.

Which was how Harry ended up at some weird conference on small businesses, staring down at an agenda with Zayn's face on it. Zayn was going to be the conference moderator, meaning that Harry could stare at him on stage as much as Harry wanted. It was creepy, but Harry actually assumed that would be enough. That just seeing Zayn would be enough to sustain him. It'd taken a lot of soul-searching, a lot of introspection and contemplating the meaning of being single, but Harry knew now how much of a fuck-up he'd been, how poorly he'd treated Zayn. Bottom-line, Harry knew he didn't deserve Zayn's time. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But Zayn was actually the one who came over to Harry at lunch, tapping Harry on the shoulder and looking just as breathtaking as Harry had ever remembered him. Black slacks, a checkered button-down, his hair falling into his eyes and ghosting over those bright red glasses frames that used to perplex Harry so much when Zayn and Harry used to sit up in the store together eating burritos.

“Hey,” Zayn said. And he was _smiling_. He was smiling and it was at Harry. “Saw your name on the sign-in sheet and had to make sure. Um. That it was really you.”

“You know any other guys around named Harry Styles who own a store in Oakland called Style?” Harry asked. “And here I was, thinking I was special.”

Zayn opened his mouth, clearly poised to say something, but he seemed to think better of it, instead shrinking into himself. And no, no. That wasn't right. That wasn't what Harry wanted, not at all.

“Can we just, uh. Can we talk? Grab a table, just for ourselves, maybe?” Zayn said it hesitantly, as if Harry might actually decline the offer.

Harry didn't even have to think about it. Zayn had smiled at him. Harry couldn't turn that down. Not ever.

  
  


It should've been cold out, but the seasons were all fucked now due to climate change or something, so even in the middle of winter, Harry and Zayn could take their lunch outside and have it be something like 70 degrees, Zayn's tattooed forearms on full display. Harry couldn't believe how much he'd missed the sight, something as simple as Zayn's bronzed arms and the ink dancing across his skin. The rings glinting on his fingers. His red framed glasses.

“I – I've taken your advice, you know,” Harry started. It was halting and almost like an answer to a question Zayn would never ask out loud. But Zayn was here, real and beautiful and willing to talk to Harry, as though Harry was someone who mattered. And God, wasn't that just Zayn? Always the one willing to invest in the underdog, willing to take a chance. Willing to say “hello” even when there was no guarantee that anything good could come of it. “I've tried to stop being immature. My parents don't pay all of my bills anymore. I got a place I can afford with proceeds from the shop, because I can do that now. The store – it's doing really well.”

“Of course it is,” Zayn answered dismissively. “Everyone on your team is amazing.”

“But it's not just my team – it wasn't just me, or Niall, or Louis. All of the tips, everything that's made the shop successful – that was all _your_ advice. The shop is doing well because of _your_ hard work.” Zayn shrugged dispassionately, as though he hadn't been responsible for all of the success Harry was now reaping or the reason why Harry was getting invited to hotshot conferences like this one, but Harry doggedly plowed forward nonetheless. “I've got the books all together. Got the social media thing down and implemented a customer reward policy. Hired on some other people in addition to Niall so that I can mostly focus on management and admin. And – and Eleanor and I broke up. We realized it wasn't working, that the passion wasn't there and we've always been better off as friends, which I would think you should know all about, since she's been dating Louis for the past few months. So I took some time for myself. I've started taking a few classes down at Laney and really thought about what I wanted, not just professionally, but emotionally.”

Zayn blinked, his eyelashes sweeping across his cheeks before honing in on Harry once more. Now it actually felt like he was really _looking_ at Harry, really taking Harry in again. “This is all very nice, Harry. I – I really do appreciate the update on everything that you've been doing. But why do you feel compelled to share it all with me? Not that I don't appreciate it. I do like hearing about my clients' successes.”

“It's got _everything_ to do with you. All of it – I did it for me. I did it for me because I selfishly knew that I wouldn't be able to get your time of day otherwise. I wanted to make myself into the best possible Harry, because otherwise I would not be worthy of being in your presence ever again.”

The corner of Zayn's mouth quirked upwards, another quick flash of a smile. And although Harry had already gotten a grin, had already stored the image away for future dissection, this smirk, the lightning quick display of teeth, quenched something in Harry's being that had been parched for _months_. “Oh really?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Of course. _Really_. Is this – is that okay? It's not too forward, is it?”

When Zayn spoke again, it wasn't with a quick, flashing smile, but a slow, spreading grin, one that made Harry think of all the times Harry caught Zayn staring at him for no real reason. Harry had been so oblivious before, had been so sad and self-deprecating that he couldn't even begin to understand why Zayn would ever look at him so fondly. Harry got it now, after months of soul-searching and journal writing and introspection. Zayn was an artist in the truest sense of the word, capable of seeing potential where anyone else would just see a white canvas, a blank Word document, or a shitty, overpriced clothing store.

“It's not too forward. It's uh. It's something, Harry. It's definitely a start.”

 


End file.
